


every time the clock clicks (do i?)

by waterlogged



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain Marvel (2019), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Collars, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, F/F, Hostage Situations, Kree (Marvel), Lesbian Sex, Master/Slave, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Miscommunication, Natasha is too observant, Power Dynamics, Punishment, Shifting perspective, Slow Build, Sort Of, Vers doesn't know better, Vers is oblivious, but eventually it resolves itself, but not really, eventually, excessive use of the honorific ma'am, fake latex, for vers, in a nutshell but they're trying their best, kree are evil and supremacist, sparring that becomes something else, they're not informed enough to make the best decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlogged/pseuds/waterlogged
Summary: Natasha’s been traded away from her Russian handlers and finds herself on board a Kree ship, assigned as an asset to Vers. Vers doesn’t seem to understand exactly what that's supposed to look like. The closer they become, and the deeper into their relationship they get, the clearer it becomes that something’s not quite right with Vers' past, or this ship.OR Just two people trying to figure out themselves, and their sex life, while basically being held hostage (to varying degrees) on an alien spaceship… and making a straight up mess of it.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 42
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so “on-point” with this fic that I’ve been calling him ‘Von-Rogg’ instead of ‘Yon-Rogg’... thanks AO3 tagging mechanic, for making me realize the error of my ways before it was way way too late and I had 50k+ words written… I'm not a die-hard comic fan. 
> 
> NOT Beta'd. 
> 
> I've taken some liberties with the Kree, and Natasha, and the timeline... if you don't wanna go with it, well, tough luck. Dunno what to tell you. 
> 
> Basically, the following fic is just a thing that happened. 
> 
> I can’t say that it *just* happened magically, cause… I wrote a damn lot of words intentionally. But did I set out to write this? No. Did I want to write this? No. Is it being written? Yup. I hope some people can enjoy it, but if you get squicked, that’s totally okay. I’ll try to give fair warning so you can exit or skip as needed. Also no offence if you give up now, sometimes it's not a risk worth taking. But I will do my best to warn in advance. If I miss something, know I didn't intend it, and comment, and I'll add it in. 
> 
> ps, fight scenes are not a strength. comma's to the rescue? also, terrible at math. I spend way too long doing math and choreographing fight scenes, they probably have flaws... do whatever you need to do to make it logical and be happy :)

There’s a human sitting on a chair in the holding cell, her legs crossed demurely at the ankles. The skin-tight suit she has on looks flexible enough to be comfortable, other than her arms, which are tied tightly against her torso in the imitation of a hug. There’s a transport mask on her face, regulating her air intake, blacking out her sight and muting her auditory senses. Her red hair is tied behind her, but a few strands spill out from the straps of the mask here and there. She sits straight in the chair, alert and at the ready, despite the futility of any movement in this state.

“How does she go to the bathroom in that thing?”

Yon-Rogg inhales deeply, but Vers knows that’s how he laughs on the inside. “They unzip her,” he says dryly, and then he turns to her. “We’re not here to discuss logistics. Be serious.”

Vers schools her face into a mimicry of his: serious eyebrows and the nose flex of attention. “Fine. Where’d she come from?”

“There was a deal, she was part of it. Find out if she’s useful, and what she’ll be useful for. The group that had her assures us she’s well worth it and adequately trained. You shouldn’t have any trouble with her.”

‘You shouldn’t have any trouble with her’ is likely the reason Vers was chosen for this particular asset. “What’s her name?”

Yon-Rogg raises his eyebrows at her. “Does it matter? Give her a new one if you like.” The question seems to stir up some doubt in his mind, uncertainty – probably at her conviction in this particular task. “Do you think you can handle this?”

“Of course,” Vers tells him, trying not to let the indignation show on her face. She’s been here long enough that she knows how this works. Acquire, condition, train, utilize. While she’s never been responsible for her own asset, everyone in the crew has had a swing or two at it. To varying success, if the rumours were to be believed.

“You’re much stronger than them,” Yon-Rogg cautions, “Though her group did tell me she’s been enhanced.”

“Enhanced how?” Vers asks, and Yon-Rogg looks at her with exasperation,

“Go find out. Do you need me to stay here and walk you through everything?”

It seems to Vers that it would be easier to ask the group in question instead of trusting an unknown source, but she understands that Yon-Rogg is done guiding her in this particular instance. “No, I’m fine.”

“Try not to screw this up,” he tells her, and instead of patronizing and offensive, he does manage to make it sound a little more like a vote of confidence. He leaves the room and Vers looks at the woman through the live feed.

Humans: weak and vulnerable, incredibly delicate. Emotional, which was a weakness, but Vers shared that flaw to a certain extent and she still wasn’t completely sold on the pitfalls of it. The door opens automatically when she steps into it, and the woman’s head turns towards the sound despite the mufflers over her ears.

First things first, the mask has to go. Vers loosens the straps and the woman doesn’t shy away from her touch, which was a good sign. As the goggles slip off, Vers comes around in front of the woman.

“What’s your name?” she asks, and the woman blinks at her, her eyes watering slightly as she forces them to stay open even as her pupils shrink down to pinpoints in protest at the sudden change of light. They didn’t have to gag this one during transport, and the woman licks her lips before answering hoarsely,

“Natasha, ma’am.”

Natasha looks at Vers but won’t meet her eye, her gaze hovering somewhere near Vers’ shoulder. Her eyes have adjusted to the room now, and they’re clear, aware. Vers folds her arms, “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I was trained to be a weapon for my country.” Natasha’s voice is getting stronger, more clipped and less hoarse. “A knife for my master.”

“And who do you serve now?” Vers asks, and Natasha looks at her for the briefest of moments before her eyes return to the deferential point of Vers’ shoulder. It had been an inquisitive look, like Vers had asked a trick question. Like Natasha might’ve been able to find a lie hiding in Vers’ eyes.

“You,” Natasha tells her after another moment of deliberation, and Vers smiles at her,

“Perfect. If I untie you, are you going to do anything stupid?” It’s a question that’s barely worth asking, though the inherit warning is a courtesy.

“No ma’am,” Natasha tells her, and she stays unnaturally still as Vers works the cables off her torso, letting them fall around her waist. Once Vers steps back, Natasha lowers her arms onto the armrests of the chair, her fingers falling limply over the edge of the metal. She settles her spine flush against the straight back of the metal chair and moves her feet so they’re flat on the ground.

“What did they tell you when they sold you to us?”

Natasha’s shoulder tense slightly, for an instant, before falling back the millimeter. Something about that question had poked at her, but Vers isn’t sure what part.

“That I was to have a new master,” Natasha tells her. “To serve them as well as I had served before.”

“Did they tell you who we are?” Vers asks, and Natasha shakes her head once, but there’s a follow up the aborted gesture prompts Vers to ask: “But you’ve figured out who we are.”

“Aliens,” Natasha answers, and she seems content to accept it. “It was muffled, but it sounds like you call yourselves Gree.”

“Kree,” Vers corrects, and while she’s not surprised that the mask hadn’t been as effective as it should have been – Natasha had heard her coming, after all – she’s curious why something rated for humans hadn’t worked on her. “You have enhanced hearing?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What else?”

“Strength. Endurance. Flexibility, resilience. Efficiency. Memory. Masks I can put on and take off, though that I believe a normal human might be able to become proficient in.” Natasha lists things like a mission requisition – matter of fact and bordering on boredom. 

“What did you do before?”

“Acquisition. Recon. Espionage. Sabotage. Assassination. Domestic service.”

A bunch of stuff that Natasha won’t be as effective at here… “We can work with that,” Vers says anyways, unwilling to let her first asset be a dud. “Come on,” she turns, “Let’s show you where you’ll be staying.”

Natasha follows two steps behind her like image retention in the old generation holographic transmissions. She keeps up without a problem, doesn’t draw too many stares, and respectfully side steps oncoming personnel even as Vers barrels past them.

“Ever been on a spaceship before?” Vers asks as they wait for the elevator to take them up to the bunk floors.

“No ma’am,” Natasha tells her, and while she makes a show of keeping her eyes on the floor, Vers catches her observing her surroundings every now and then, clocking locked doors and palm swipes, the globes in the ceilings of the onboard video system, and the various badges on the shoulder tops of other Kree they pass.

The door opens and Vers steps out, heading down the wide hallway, past a few doors before stopping in front of one. The door slides open for her and she steps in. “These are my quarters – there’s a holding room here for you. Wait in there,” she tells Natasha, pointing towards the living area, and when Natasha enters, the door closes behind her.

Vers goes to her bedroom and pulls a collar out of a cupboard. It’s a training collar she’d gotten a couple cycles ago from Yon-Rogg, when they learnt that Natasha would be coming to this ship and given to Vers. It was an inch-wide flexible band of thick fabric, the locking mechanism keyed to her fingerprint. When she comes back to the living area, Natasha’s on her knees with her hands behind her back, facing the long couch against the wall that backs against the outside hallway.

It doesn’t seem like the recent human behaviour that Vers had read about, but she knows that sometimes the intel is incorrect – or at least lacking vital context. She walks around the woman and takes a seat on the couch. “Come closer,” she says, and Natasha crawls forward until she’s right in front of Vers’ feet. Then she sits back on her heels again, hands behind her back.

“Is that what your people normally do?” Vers asks curiously.

A micro expression passes through Natasha’s face, so quick that Vers can’t catch it long enough to decipher what it means. “I thought you wanted me-”

“It’s fine,” Vers tells her quickly, in case she was meant to reassure whatever emotion just happened. “I don’t care. I just didn’t think kneeling was commonplace for your species.”

Natasha meets her eyes again then, momentarily, but calculating. In a flash, they’re gone. “It’s not,” she tells Vers’ knees.

“Oh.” So, this was just a Natasha thing. Or a positional thing? “It’s because I’m your master?”

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha says, and Vers finally understands. The other assets she’d seen mostly stood around, but there were a few that defaulted to kneeling - though those had been species with stricter cultural hierarchies than humans were thought to have. Maybe where Natasha came from maintained that kind of hierarchy.

“Okay, sure.” It didn’t much bother Vers. “This is a training collar,” she tells Natasha, holding the collar up. “You’ll wear it while you’re here. There’s a tracker, and monitoring systems I have access to. Hold your hair back,” she tells Natasha, and Natasha’s arms rise to obey even though Vers can see her shoulders hitching with tension.

Kneeling was fine but a collar was cause for discomfort?

Vers clips the ends together and the metal piece whines momentarily as it pulls the band snug against Natasha’s neck. There was enough flexibility to allow for muscle movement and breathing, and enough rigidity so that when Vers tried to push her finger between the band and Natasha’s skin, the two remained sealed.

“Good. You can wash and exercise in that, but let me know if it chafes.”

Natasha nods. Vers thinks to herself that this is going to be a long night, talking to someone that appeared not to like talking back.

“What did you mean by domestic services?” Vers asks. The finer points of traditions on Earth she’s unfamiliar with, but there are basic necessities that most beings need: food, sleep. General hygiene ranked higher or lower on the list depending on the species, but to her knowledge, humans tended to have a reasonable baseline.

The muscles along Natasha’s neck flex, causing the collar to glint as it readjusts. “Household chores. Entertainment. Assisting in personal matters.”

Vers puts her chin in her hand, watching Natasha curiously – there it was again, the bullet point list.

“Like cleaning the place and making meals?”

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha intones.

So, then, she won’t be completely useless – although Vers did anticipate there was more hope for Natasha’s potential than replacing a maintenance robot. Grasping for anything, she asks, “What did you do when you weren’t… doing any of that stuff?”

“Training. Practising. Studying – mostly languages, dialects, and culture. Tactical simulations. Learning and preparing.”

That part doesn’t sound too different from the past-time activities on board. “Who taught you that stuff?”

“Trainers. Handlers. Masters. Books as well.”

Again, not ideal, but there was potential to work with, there. “Great. We’ll do some experimenting tomorrow. For now, read this,” Vers says, passing Natasha a tablet. It switches on when it senses Natasha’s eyes on the screen. “Can you understand it? It’s got a universal translator in it, it might take a second…”

The characters shift on the page, going through a few permutations before landing on what is likely the language Natasha’s most familiar with. “Yes ma’am,” Natasha says, as monotone as ever.

It’s a foreigner friendly, condensed, history of the Kree.

Natasha starts reading where she is, and Vers, who had read the same thing after Yon-Rogg had found her floating around in space, knows it’s going to take her a while. “You can sit down on the couch,” Vers tells her, and Natasha’s eyes freeze. Gracefully she stands, takes a few steps back, and sits on the single-seater behind her, on the edge, her feet flat on the ground and her back straight. There, she begins to read again, and while it doesn’t look relaxing, Vers leaves her be.

There’s a pile of paperwork that Yon-Rogg wants her to do – she may have neglected it from the previous dozen missions, and allegedly the downtime during this phase with a new asset was a perfect time to get it done – and so Vers moves herself to her bedroom, getting herself comfortable on the bed. 

That was one of the perks of having an asset, a larger living quarters and a private bedroom. Two bathrooms, in case you didn’t want to share with your asset, and a small nook off the living area where you could get sustenance without going to the sustenance hall.

It would be unsurprising to most that she falls asleep there. Her nights have been filled with fitful sleep (when she managed to close her eyes at all) and with Natasha demonstrating that she was the furthest thing from a threat…

When Vers wakes up, she opens her eyes to see the bright green of Natasha’s, catching the light from the dimmed overhead. It doesn’t feel like she’s slept for too long, caught between the grogginess of sleep and the elusive energy of rest.

“I fell asleep,” Vers states, and the edges of Natasha’s lips twitch, but it’s just a twitch. “How long – ?”

“Fifty-eight minutes. It takes a Kree an average of ten minutes to reach their first stage of sleep. I read for sixty minutes and you stopped making noise about fourteen minutes after you left me.”

“There’s no time out there.”

Natasha doesn’t make any acknowledgement of that. So, they could add ‘timekeeper’ to the list of Natasha’s skills. Vers sits up, pulling at her shirt, which had gotten twisted from the movements of her sleep. “How long have you been here?”

“Twenty-two minutes,” Natasha tells her, her line of sight shifting to Vers’ shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake you up, ma’am.”

“For the record, waking me up is preferable to staring at me while I’m unconscious. What do you want?”

“I finished the reading you gave me.”

Vers stares at her, and Natasha meets her eye. “That was fast,” Vers tells her pointedly, and Natasha replies,

“I’m a fast reader, ma’am.”

It had taken Vers much longer to finish, though her own reading was interrupted multiple times by questions and general disinterest (the Kree race, while fascinating and undoubtedly powerful, did not understand how to make its history sound exciting).

“Uh-huh. What’s our native planet?” Vers asks, and Natasha promptly responds with,

“Hala.”

“Who’s our leader?”

“The Supreme Intelligence.”

“What’s the composition of air on Hala?”

The question doesn’t throw Natasha, though she does take a slight pause before reciting: “84.4% nitrogen, 14.64% oxygen, and 0.05% carbon dioxide as well as other negligible gases.”

Frowning and narrowing her eyes at Natasha, Vers picks up her own tablet to look it up – the numbers are correct, though there’s also a chart there listing the negligible gases in question. Even she doesn’t know that, and she doubts the other Kree on her crew do either. “What other negligible gases?”

Natasha closes her eyes, thinks for a moment, then recites: “Methane, Neon, Helium, Krypton, Hydrogen, and something called Xrili that I’m unfamiliar with.”

The suspicion has gone from Vers and she doesn’t hide her approval. It’s actually kind of amazing. “How do you remember all that?”

Natasha opens her eyes. “I have a good memory, ma’am.”

A good memory – a good memory that Vers was sure she could find a use for. Even if it was just for post-mission papers.

“Ma’am?” Natasha asks, and Vers waits for a question but there’s not one forthcoming so she wonders if Natasha’s just asking if she can ask a question. Were all humans this weird and meticulous?

“What?” Vers asks impatiently.

Natasha frames the question delicately, making extra certain, for some reason, to make it polite: “I did have one question.”

That much was obvious. “Which is?”

“What is Xrili?”

It’s an answer that Vers doesn’t have, but thankfully, she has her tablet. With a click on the element in question, she passes the device to Natasha. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says quietly, and she rests the tablet on the edge of the bed as she starts to read the entry.

Vers doesn’t necessarily want to invite her up to the bed. She finds herself yawning again. Rolling over to the opposite side, she gets up and uses the bathroom. When she comes out, Natasha’s still reading. Fast reader her ass. Except when she moves to go past her, she notices that Natasha’s moved past the article on Xrili, and is now reading about gravitational nuances on Hala.

“Hey,” Vers chides, and Natasha’s eyes drop immediately from the tablet. She pushes it back onto the bed, and then her hands slip behind her back, fingers interlaced. The picture of penance. It would be amusing if it didn’t seem so out of place. “Guilty much?”

“Sorry ma’am,” Natasha says quietly, and Vers rolls her eyes,

“No, you’re not.” 

Silence meets the callout. Initiative isn’t exactly a bad thing, but what’s curious to Vers is how contrite Natasha looks. “I probably don’t have to say it’s off limits unless I give you something specific to look at but: don’t go snooping.”

“Sorry ma’am,” Natasha repeats.

Vers leaves the bedroom and Natasha stays where she is, wondering what the retribution for this particular overstep will be. The tablet hasn’t blacked out its screen yet, and she finishes reading what’s displayed on the elemental composition of Hala’s planet without moving her head, keeping her ears open for Vers’ movement. The small defiance would get her flayed in the red room, but she can hear Vers pouring herself a glass of something in the kitchen-like nook, and so far she’s not sure this new master has a flaying in her.

Three minutes go by and Vers calls: “You going to stay in there all cycle staring at the sheets?” 

Natasha had thought that Vers left her there on purpose, and the evidence to suggest otherwise suggests another misstep on her part. Standing, Natasha takes the tablet and brings it out with her, making sure the screen faces down.

When she holds it out, Vers takes it, but doesn’t look at it. “I know it’s getting late,” Vers says, and she tosses the tablet onto the far couch. Natasha presumes the time of day is signalled by the overheads, which have gotten substantially darker since she first started reading. “I’m hungry though – do you eat?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha says, trying very hard to not look like she thinks it’s a dumb question. It’s been a while since they shoved a tube into her mouth with some liquid based nutrients at the other end, and even longer since she’s been forced to have one of their fun-sized protein pellets. Her stomach isn’t rumbling because she refuses to let it, but she’d been wondering if the borderline starvation had been intentional, or an oversight. 

“Great,” Vers stands, “Let’s go.”

They walk down mostly empty halls, Vers silent and Natasha even quieter behind her. It’s too grid-based to be a maze, though there are enough turns that Natasha wonders if Vers is taking the scenic route.

When they get to the mess hall – sustenance hall, Vers calls it – Natasha holds the tray that Vers puts in her hands, following a step behind as Vers piles both her own and Natasha’s high with food of various textures and colours.

It’s similar to most mess hall’s Natasha has been in. It seemed that there was only so much variance that could go into the logistics of feeding a large amount of people. Natasha’s not sure where the food comes from, though the stands that the food rests on seem too bulky to simply be a means of raising it.

Vers gets them cups of a bronze liquid, then takes them to the middle of the sea of tables. Picking the side that faces the main entrance, Vers sits, and Natasha waits for any indication of where she should sit. When she doesn’t get anything, she sits next to Vers, keeping her eyes on her tray. It seems like too much food, and when Vers says,

“It’s all brimming with nutrients, so it doesn’t matter what combination of tastes you go for. Experiment,” Natasha’s grateful that it implies that she doesn’t have to finish it all.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Natasha says, and she falls silent. After Vers has had her first bite, Natasha picks up her pitchfork-shaped utensil and starts to eat as well.

There’s an octagonal device in Vers’ neck that Natasha can see in her peripheral vision. It’s dark grey, has tiny LED-like lights, and is the size of a five-ruble coin. It likely doesn’t serve the same purpose as the collar around her own throat (and why would her new handler have a collar anyway?), but she’s curious about it. So far Vers is the only Kree Natasha’s seen that has one.

Maybe once she’s more familiar with her new handler, she’ll be able to coax its purpose out of her. For now, Natasha eats, finding the three mounds of food (the textures are shredded chicken, mushy oatmeal, and chopped carrots) more or less equally acceptable. The bronze liquid has some bite in its taste, though it’s chilled in temperature which leaves her mouth tingling in confusion.

There are four other Kree in the hall, and one of them gets up from his table and comes towards them. “Vers,” he says pleasantly when he reaches them, and Natasha puts down her pitchfork and takes her hands off the table. It’s one thing to share a meal with a handler, but she’s pretty sure she ranks near the bottom on this ship.

Vers, in contrast, picks up her glass and uses it to salute a greeting, “Yon-Rogg.”

“Late night?”

“Can’t sleep,” Vers tells him after she drinks, and there’s an obvious familiarity between them. Was the lack of sleep a perceived weakness he didn’t want to mention in front of Natasha? The sigh either confirms it or expresses exasperation, Natasha can’t look up to check without being disrespectful. “You?”

“About to meet Att-Lass for a post-mission, she lands soon. How’s the asset coming along?”

“Great,” Vers tells him brightly. It seems false, even to Natasha’s ears, and she wonders what history the two of them have. “Fast reader. Good memory.”

“Is that so?” he asks, and at last Natasha hears the drawl coated in authority and entitlement that she’s so used to. “Look at me,” he orders softly, and Natasha’s eyes snap up off her tray and up to him, her head still mostly tilted down, her face perfectly blank.

The lazy disregard he has for her makes his eyes slide up and down what he can see of her body, his gaze narrowing as he scrutinizes and then discounts her; he wants her to see him staking his subtle claim in this dynamic, and Natasha obligingly averts her eyes. She adds possessive to her mental list of character traits.

“Her name?” he asks. It’s not a question for her so Natasha doesn’t answer it – his eyes are different from Vers’, colder and sharper, the colouring starker.

“Natasha,” Vers tells him through a mouthful of food.

His lips press together and Natasha wants to know if it’s more than Vers’ informality that irks him.

Yon-Rogg folds his arms, “Are you sure it’s wise to let her out so early on?”

His initial reluctance to expose a weakness has turned into careful patronization. The advice itself shows Vers didn’t have much experience in the realm of handling assets, but the shift in Yon-Rogg is another power play from him that fascinates Natasha. It seems to fly right over Vers’ head though, who says, “Sure – she’s got the collar, and checks all the boxes.”

“All after,” he consults a screen mounted on his forearm, “Four hours?”

“Yeah,” Vers shrugs. “Natasha,” she asks, and it appears they’re doing show-and-tell now. “Why are you here?”

“To be a knife for my master, ma’am,” Natasha answers immediately, her attention turning away from Yon-Rogg and to Vers instead.

“And who’s that?” 

“You, ma’am,” she says, and Vers nods happily,

“See?” It’s a rhetorical question. “Go get some more L’uh,” Vers tells her, holding out her empty glass, and Natasha understands the brown liquid is called L’uh. Taking the glass, she stands and goes to get a refill, wondering if Vers recognizes the subtle affront to Yon-Rogg she’s just delivered by exerting her sovereignty over Natasha. Likely not, as Natasha sees no trace of awareness on Vers’ face when she comes back.

“See?” Vers says again, and Natasha places the full glass back where it had been, then sits back down. “She’s good.”

Natasha can feel Yon-Rogg’s gaze slip back to her. She understands his perspective – it’s absurd for Vers to claim that she trusts Natasha so quickly without any real proof. A loyal subject was required to prove that loyalty, but Vers had skipped over that part entirely, first by leaving Natasha unattended with a tablet, and then by falling asleep without securing her.

It’s true that Natasha already operated on indoctrinated submission and obedience, but if anything, she had proven herself untrustworthy after taking liberties with Vers’ tablet.

“I would caution you to test your faith more substantially before relying on it too heavily,” Yon-Rogg advises. Natasha cringes internally at his heavy handedness, but even that doesn’t seem to resonate with Vers, who nods her head like it’s a given and says,

“Totally.”

Yon-Rogg sighs, and if Natasha could, she’d probably share it. “I must go. Keep a level head about this, Vers. What’s given can be taken away.”

He gives Natasha one last look and leaves – did he mean that Natasha could be taken away? The interaction leaves her with a clear impression of what he would be like as a master: demanding and hard, but firm handed and articulate. Likely fairer than most, but some people kept their true selves hidden deeply away.

“Are you done?” Vers asks, and Natasha pulls herself out of her thoughts. Vers has finished her drink, and she looks like she’s actually asking.

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha answers despite Vers’ apparent bid for honesty. Yon-Rogg had interrupted her meal, but she defers to Vers’ pace out of habit and caution. Stacking the glasses onto the trays, she takes Vers’ tray as well as her own, and puts them into the bin she’s observed another Kree disposing their meal into.

Vers is waiting at the main entrance, arms folded and leaning against the door. “I’m still not tired,” Vers says with a frown, and Natasha is starting to put together a common thread. “Would you be up for some fighting?”

“It’s likely, ma’am,” Natasha tells her. Some more information and context would be nice, but she’s likely either talking about sparring, some sort of tactical training, or an observational exercise – regardless of what it is, it’s not in Natasha’s nature or conditioning to defy.

“Great, let’s go.”

Their destination is a short ride up in the elevator, and Vers stands right in front of the doors with her arms crossed while Natasha stays behind her and slightly to the side. There’s no one using the elevators this time of night, which is good, since Vers tips out of the elevator as soon as the door opens. Natasha has to wonder if she’s always like this, and manages to keep up in a more subdued manner. 

The room they enter is large, bigger than any gym Natasha’s been inside. Thick rectangular mats on the floor take up most of the space, and in one corner is an organized section of various devices. Vers takes them into what seems like dressing rooms, where there are knobs for hanging up clothing peppered across the walls. There are racks and posts, and a few low benches.

They cleaned Natasha before they put her in the chair to wait for Vers, but her suit had not received the same attention. “That goes in the bin. All of it,” Vers tells her waving a finger at Natasha’s entire body, and then pointing to a bin filled with what must be dirty clothes.

It was a good tactical suit, but Natasha doesn’t have any sentimentality towards it. Nor does she maintain any sense of modesty as she strips out of her under garments, tossing them into the bin as well. Vers hands her a moss green one-piece that sticks to her skin like latex. Thankfully, it doesn’t share the same suffocating feeling as latex. It adjusts to her body well, the shoulders of it shrinking to accommodate her narrow width, expanding slightly to fit around her thighs, and tightening again to become snug around her ankles. It has a zipper that seems to have two runners working in tandem, with a metal plate that snaps over the top that reminds her of the plate on the collar around her neck.

It’s the same material as the collar, she realizes, and once she snaps the metal plate in place, it clicks. Did it lock the same way as the collar had? She can’t check without showing her hand, so she forces the question aside.

Vers has green two-tone pants and a green two-tone top with cropped sleeves that fits her snuggly. The hem of the top comes to the bottom of her hips, and Natasha wonders what the significance of their different attire is. 

“Star command issue,” Vers explains. 

Had Natasha’s curiosity been that obvious? Or was Vers both more observant and less astute than she’d initially gauged? “Tie your hair back,” Vers says, passing her a small elastic before tying back her own hair. 

Natasha follows Vers out of the room, begrudgingly content with the fact that her suit doesn’t pinch or pull uncomfortably anywhere. “We’ll take that one,” Vers says, and she walks to a mat that’s buffered by a wall. “Did you fight like this before?”

“In training, ma’am,” Natasha tells her, stopping at the edge of the mat. “I try to avoid combat on assignment. Typically engaging before neutralizing was considered a fault.”

“Okay,” Vers nods as she sorts through the information, “Great. I want you to stand over there,” she says, and Natasha moves to follow the directive before she’s done speaking, “And come at me.” 

Vers slips into a fighting stance, and Natasha doesn’t recognize any style other than the positioning of her fists vaguely reminding her of American military. “Ma’am?” Natasha asks.

Vers smiles indulgently at her, and it’s a look Natasha can see being on Yon-Rogg’s face. “Come at me. Attack me – don’t worry, you won’t hurt me, I just want to see what you can do.”

There isn’t nearly enough information in the directive. “And, the parameters, ma’am?” 

“The, what now?”

“The parameters of the task, ma’am.”

“There are no parameters – you try to hit me. That’s it.”

Natasha knows that nothing is as simple as ‘that’s it’. “And if I draw blood?”

Vers shrugs, “You won’t, but if you did, that’d be fine.”

“And we’re restricting our movement to this mat?”

Vers’ hands drop out of their position in physical expression of her bewildered impatience. “Sure.”

“Using only our bodies?” Natasha clarifies, and the lack of anger or annoyance on Vers’ part makes the situation… uncharted territory. 

“Okay,” Vers agrees.

Natasha schools her frown – she hadn’t meant to be the one instigating a discussion about the parameters, but it seemed like Vers genuinely hadn’t thought that far ahead. Sticking strictly to physical attacks was going to severely impact any play at an upper hand Natasha had been hoping for. Close proximity would mean it’d be mostly a test of strength, and Natasha knew well enough that she was already bested in that department. Nonetheless, she centers herself and raises her hands. “Understood, ma’am.”

Vers mirrors Natasha’s movement, readying her stance. “Come at me.”

Starting out cold was another thing Natasha wasn’t used to, but she moves forward slowly anyway. What she knew so far was that Vers seemed to be mostly impatient and impulsive, and so when Vers lunges at her because she gets tired of waiting for Natasha to get close enough, Natasha is ready.

The speed is a level that she’d only seen once before in her training, when they brought in a Winter Soldier to test all the girls. It had been more akin to a massacre, and they had only survived due to the explicit orders that the girls not be killed. 

That had been before the injections. 

Natasha is already moving to the left (Vers favours her right) when Vers throws a right jab - Natasha drops to the ground, extending her leg for a sweep, but she anticipates that Vers will be able to see it coming and jump over it, so she focuses her energy on trying to knock Vers down when she’s off balance. When Natasha sees that Vers knows the kick is coming, she aborts it and launches herself upwards, using the momentum to drill her shoulder into Vers’ chest. 

Vers is jumping over a leg sweep that never swept when Natasha makes contact, and both of them topple over from the force of it. 

Natasha pushes off on her feet to keep her momentum going so she can tumble off Vers, twisting as she comes up so she’s facing Vers again. 

Vers lets her head fall on the mat where she is, a grin on her face, tilting her head up so she can look at Natasha. “That was cool,” she tells Natasha, who wasn’t expecting… that. Vers rolls, pushing herself up to her feet from her hands. “Do it again.” 

The element of surprise is gone in both the tactical sense and the advantage that came from being underestimated. 

Still, that didn’t mean Natasha wasn’t going to try. With offset steps she comes at Vers, hoping the odd rhythm will throw her off; Natasha side-tumbles to get around to Vers’ back, but Vers has caught onto Natasha’s strengths of agility and intentionality, and spins on a heel to meet her. 

Natasha manages to land a jab near where a human kidney would be. Vers knocks her arm aside a moment later and Natasha barely gets her arm up in time to deflect the blow. It’s too strong of an attack to be fully deflected, so Natasha goes with the force of it, extending her arms so she can flip back onto her feet. 

She lands at the edge of the mat, fighting to remain on her toes so she doesn’t step off. Vers comes closer as Natasha gets her balance back and masters herself. This time, instead of going through or around, Natasha aims to go over, pushing down one of Vers’ punches and contracting, then extending through every muscle in her body to launch herself over Vers’ head. She lands almost right behind Vers and moves in to grapple, slinging her arm around Vers’ shoulder and clamping her legs around Vers’ waist. 

Vers grabs at her arms, digging her fingers into Natasha’s suit, hard. The suit helps dampen some of the contact, but Natasha still grimaces in pain. For a moment Vers struggles, then some sort of glowing energy comes out of her hands and Natasha doesn’t stand a chance as Vers pulls her arms apart and tosses her towards one end of the mat. 

Natasha lands hard on her back, feeling her breath catching as her entire torso rattles. What had that been? Natasha pushes herself up to her elbows, and Vers looks at her with guilt. 

“Whoopsies,” Vers says, with a grimace. “I’m not supposed to do that. Probably - especially - against you.” 

The confusing comment gives Natasha enough time to get her breath back, and she stands up. This time Vers comes at her, and this time Natasha employs a triple dodge - fake right, and her hand gets caught - fake up, and Vers braces for another wrap around move - but for the third she slides between Vers’ legs and kicks upwards - Vers is in the process of turning and the hit lands on the side of her hip. 

Barely fazed, Vers drops down on top of Natasha, catching her wrists and pinning them down on the mat while she settles her weight on Natasha’s waist. 

“You’re not a very punchy fighter,” Vers tells her, and Natasha can’t disagree: 

“No, ma’am. I play my strengths when I’m outgunned.” 

“Smart,” Vers tells her, and while Natasha has spent a good long time watching Vers’ fitful sleep, this is the longest they’ve looked at each other. 

There’s still so much to learn and to know, so many curiosities that Natasha’s is impatient to figure out. There’s something strange, too, about the way Vers holds back and defies almost all expectations Natasha has of past masters and handlers. They were rolling around the mat at night for what - fun? A distraction? A show of dominance?

“Thank you, ma’am,” Natasha says, and the moment is over, and she lifts her knees and tucks her heels towards her ass to get ready to try to dismount Vers. 

Natasha anchors her right heel on the outside of Vers’ left ankle, pushes her left leg off the floor, drives her hips up and throws her right arm up and out - the unexpected shift in balance catches Vers off guard, and while she doesn’t let go of Natasha’s hands, Natasha does manage to tip them over and comes out on top, still in between Vers’ legs. 

Before Vers has a chance to acclimatize to anything, Natasha ducks out from under Vers’ legs and twists herself around so she can wrap her thighs around Vers’ neck, using her still caught hands as leverage to amplify her ability to squeeze. 

Vers quickly lets go of her hands so that she can work on pulling Natasha’s legs off her face, and Natasha saves her the effort, releasing her head and rolling away until she can push herself into a standing position. 

Natasha’s breathing hard, in and out of her nose as calmly as she can manage. The moves themselves aren’t taxing, but the extra push it takes to make her fast enough to keep up and the extra effort that goes into maintaining a level of pressure that’s meaningful is draining her strength faster than usual. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Vers asks, and it makes Natasha uneasy that she doesn’t know what Vers is referring to. Everything she does, she tries to do deliberately. 

“Ma’am?” 

Vers finally stands up, though she looks discouraged. “You get close to an advantage, but instead of trying to win, you give up.” 

It’s not what Natasha’s doing, exactly, but she’s not sure what she’s supposed to say about it. Does Vers perceive it as a slight? Either way, Vers was clearly unhappy with her. Natasha melts from her fighting stance to her knees, slipping her hands behind her back. “I didn’t mean to cause any offense, ma’am,” she says carefully. 

“What are you doing?” Vers asks, and Natasha doesn’t look up to check if she looks as tired as she sounds. 

Another mistake made. They were aliens, but Natasha still wasn’t used to misstepping so much or making unintentional mistakes. She resolves to do better, be more careful. “Apologizing, ma’am,” Natasha tells her, and Vers comes to her, sitting down in Natasha’s field of vision. 

“I was asking a question, not - scolding you.” 

Asking a question Natasha has yet to answer, and doesn’t know how to answer. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought the intention was to fight, not to win.” 

Vers has her head in her hands, holding up her chin like she had when Natasha was first in her quarters. “How are those different?” 

They are, fundamentally, but Natasha’s not sure if she should explain it, if her master doesn’t think it’s so. 

“Natasha,” Vers says sharply, and Natasha is conditioned to obey that tone, the demand in it, and if Yon-Rogg was her master she may have answered differently but nothing in Vers pointed to someone who wanted only to be reaffirmed in her beliefs and stature. 

“A fight may have a predetermined outcome, or it may be a battle of survival. It may be an exercise. To win is an objective, not a means. To fight, is a means.” 

“Only one of us should’ve been pulling our punches,” Vers tells her, and Natasha thinks that pulling punches might be too generous a phrase for what she had been doing. 

“To keep fighting would’ve led to being defeated,” she tries to explain. “The objective was to fight. I know I can’t win against you, so an attempt to do so is a waste of resources that wouldn’t serve the objective.” 

“We’ll do one last one then,” Vers says, and she stands, “And this time, try to win.” Natasha sees a hand in front of her, and she takes it, though she rises up on her own merit. 

There have been impossible tasks before, but they had been intended as cruelties and shows of dominance. This was a twisting of logic fabricated to suit Natasha’s frame of reference, and that was inherently opposed to her conditioning and her place. 

It’s a mental roadblock that she puts in a box and tucks away for the time being; there was a more immediate task than processing the upending of her psychological bedrocks:

Fighting to win. 

There are still a few tricks Natasha has, and she obligingly moves with Vers as they reset themselves at the centre of the mat. 

The need to talk for Vers manifests itself in the restlessness of her feet, and Natasha wonders why Vers is holding herself back. To avoid disturbing Natasha’s sense of objective and means? Or because the exercise has moved past leisurely sport and to something more dangerous? 

Natasha moves first, allowing her initial attack to be her intended attack - it catches Vers, who had been waiting for a follow up, off guard. Natasha’s fist makes contact with Vers’ face, but she’s not strong enough to do anything more than make Vers take a step back. 

Vers catches her hand, her fingers tightening around Natasha’s wrist like a vice grip - Natasha twists so that her arm is diagonally across her body, then drops down so the yank of the motion makes Vers lurch forward - Vers has enough balance to stay upright, and Natasha pushes off her feet and slides in between Vers’ legs. 

Vers tries to step over her but Natasha pushes herself the opposite way, and when Vers tries to step over her again, she’s hopelessly twisted up and has to let go of Natasha’s wrist. She kicks at Natasha as Natasha rolls to gain a foot of distance - the kick connects with Natasha’s thigh and the impact stings. 

Natasha springs up and pushes off the ground so she’s level with Vers’ neck, and mostly horizontal - her intention is to get her arms around Vers’ shoulder and bring her down as she starts to drop, but Vers sees what’s going on too quickly, and at the same time, not quick enough. Natasha’s got her arms around Ver’s neck, and the strain of Natasha’s downward movement causes Ver’s to buckle backwards. 

Landing on her feet and forearms, Natasha has a slight advantage as Vers tries to get her bearings straight. Twisting around, she grabs the collar of Vers’ shirt and pulls herself so that her thighs are able to close around Vers’ neck, her hands cupped under Vers’ chin and pulling hard. 

It takes a second for Vers to figure out where Natasha’s various body parts are, and Natasha wonders if she’s ever been in this position before. Once she has Natasha’s hands, it’s easy for her to yank Natasha down and sit herself up, ducking her head, allowing her to slip out from Natasha’s hold. 

Natasha falls ass first into Vers’ lap, both her hands now caught. 

Vers crosses Natasha’s wrists in front of her body, pulls Natasha close against her own. Natasha kicks out with a foot, and Vers catches it with her leg. Natasha relaxes for a moment, hoping their past sprawls will imply she’s given in - at the first sign of ease, Natasha uses her free leg and a snap of her hips to try to escape from Vers, but it’s too easy for Vers to clamp back down, this time making sure to inhibit both legs. 

With her remaining strength Natasha thrashes against Vers, but any advantage she had had is gone, and it’s now a battle of pure strength. Her back to Vers’ front, her hands crossed in front of her and taut to keep her flush with Vers, there isn’t anything she can do. 

The feeling of defeat calms her, dispels some of the uncertainties that have been threatening to flare - this was a rite of passage with each master or handler, something familiar. To be put in one's place, to be dominated and conquered. It could be either physical or psychological in nature, but there was always some humiliation or torture to be endured. This process, by comparison, had been nearly peaceful. 

(But always it was on their terms, and had this really been on Vers’ terms? Hadn’t she modified the task to better suit Natasha? Had Vers forced her will on Natasha, or had she compromised it for Natasha?)

“We’re done,” Vers whispers into her ear, and she’s so close that Natasha can feel her lips moving against her skin. Natasha lets her body go limp, and when Vers releases her, Natasha stays where she is, lying on top of Vers, still breathing heavily. 

Vers’ hands fall to Natasha’s stomach, lingering there. Her fingers brush against the fabric of Natasha’s suit, and then she’s unseating Natasha and wiggling out from under her. Natasha stays on her back, anchored down by the one arm that remains across her stomach, Vers’ face rising up to hover next to her own. 

“You okay?” Vers asks, and Natasha doesn’t know if she’s ever heard that question asked with care and concern. 

“Yes, ma’am,” she says softly, and she could stay like this for much longer, the heaviness of Vers’ arm an inexplicably welcome weight. She can see Vers smile, feel the curl of Vers’ hands against the side of her waist - did Vers know she was doing that? Reassuring through touch and sight and words? 

Maybe not - Vers yawns a moment later, shifts her arm so she can pat Natasha on the stomach patronizingly a few times. “That was a good go.” She stands up and takes Natasha’s hand, hauling her up. “Let’s go wash.” 

Vers heads to the main doors, likely intending to shower in her quarters, and Natasha follows her, feeling muted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so awesome to see kudos and comments, I love them all, thank you so much! 
> 
> Nothing much to warn for in this chapter. If you think there's something I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.

“Go wash,” Vers tells Natasha, leaving her at the door to the secondary bathroom and disappearing into her room. The shower in the bathroom is clear glass (or rigid plastic), and Natasha’s relieved that she can snap the metal plate on her suit open. Peeling it off, she folds it and sets it aside on the ground, entering the shower. 

The water starts automatically, raining down from the ceiling, and she slides away from it. It isn’t a trap though, and the water is hot. She can feel it in the droplets that splash out at her, and she brings a handful of water to her mouth. It’s a little stale, but it’s better than the tepid water on the transport ship. 

“Change into these when you’re done,” Vers tells her over the sound of the water running, and Natasha sees her leaving; she’s placed a small stack of clothes on the edge of the countertop of the sink. 

She’s gone before Natasha can acknowledge the order. There is no door that closes behind her. 

There are bruises on her arms from where Vers had grabbed her earlier, and her muscles ache pleasantly from the exertion. It’s been so long since she’s had an opportunity to use her body and push it, she can feel the slackness where she’s used to solid muscle. Stepping into the hot water, Natasha allows herself a minute of relishing as the heat cascades over her body and it quickly shifts from burning to therapeutic. 

After stretching her neck out - the collar around her throat folds over itself, proving to be as flexible as Vers had promised it to be - she uses the bottles on the ledge of the shower to wash. The substance doesn’t smell like anything, but the grease dissipates from her hair and the sweat washes away so it must be the right item. 

Not willing to linger too long after a less than stellar performance today, she steps out of the shower and dries herself off, wringing out her hair out with the towel as she looks at the clothes Vers dropped off. 

These ones are a duller green than the suit she’d sparred in, and she puts the tighter, bra-like shirt on first. It’s adequately supportive. The second is a tank top, which still fits snuggly. Underwear and pants - no socks - the collar has dried out by now too but her hair will be damp for a while without a blowdryer.

Natasha steps out into the hallway, the light there no more than a dusk-like haze. The door to Vers’ room is open, but when she looks into it, the bathroom door is closed. The sound of water running comes through, and she makes the logical conclusions. 

Part of her wants to take advantage of Vers’ lax attitude and explore the books in the living room, but the part that had been beaten into her is compelled to enter Vers’ room, kneel in the middle of it, and wait. 

There is no denying that Vers has the ability to make her life very painful. And that she hasn’t bothered to do so yet, despite the opportunities Natasha has given her. 

It could be a potentially dangerous situation for Natasha, if she doesn’t figure out Vers quickly. It seems to be a given that Vers wants her to act without needing to be told, to be autonomous without crossing boundaries. But those boundaries had yet to be established. She might have a chance though, if Vers continues to allow her the leniency to adjust her behaviour before coming down. 

Yon-Rogg remains a point of contention for her - the more she thinks about it, the stranger it seems to her that someone who doesn’t command respect would be chosen for a task that seemed to be a significant privilege. Yon-Rogg had been patronizing to Vers, and having an asset wasn’t commonplace on this ship. Unless Yon-Rogg didn’t hold a position as powerful as Natasha presumed - but then why would Vers let him treat her that way?

The water stops running and Natasha pulls herself out of her thoughts, instead listening to the noises inside the bathroom. The soft sound of friction between head, hair and towel, a quiet thump as the now-heavier towel lands on the floor. Vers sighing, the whisper of clothes - the door opens and Natasha stills herself. 

Vers walks around the bed and there’s a pause - she doesn’t have any socks on either, and there are beads of water on her feet. 

“What are you doing?” Vers asks and Natasha looks up at her - her hair is still wet, trickles of water running down her shoulders, her shirt damp in places. 

“Waiting, ma’am.” 

“For what?” 

“Whatever you need me to do.” 

“I thought you were going to go to bed,” Vers says. 

Nothing had been implicitly conveyed about Natasha putting herself away for the night, but instead of pointing it out she sidesteps with: “I don’t know where you want me to sleep.” 

“In your room. The holding room - that’s your room. Right? Well, go,” Vers tells her and Natasha gets up and goes into the small room across from the secondary bathroom. There’s a thick mat on the floor and a tin bucket in the corner but nothing else. Enough room to stretch out either way, but not much more. 

Vers follows her, and stands in the doorway. “You don’t need anything else, right?” 

“No ma’am,” Natasha says, and Vers closes the door of the holding room without a backwards glance or goodbye. 

Natasha peers up into the corners of the room but can’t find any obvious monitoring system. The lights go out and she moves to the mat on the floor and sits, resting her back against the wall.

So far it seemed like Vers was an idiot.

Ignorant, Natasha corrects harshly – she can’t afford to think of a new handler as an idiot.

Simply uneducated, unaware of how to use her. Unaware of the dynamic, and of the terms of this arrangement. 

Unaware of Natasha’s understanding of the situation – Vers’ was the correct one, Natasha reminds herself. She must adjust her own expectations and behaviour to her handler, not the other way around.

There is a benefit in it, the fact that Vers doesn’t know how things are supposed to be. An ignorance Natasha can use to her advantage to guide the situation into more tolerable terms for herself.

Yet there were others on this ship that were aware of what this dynamic was supposed to look like, and Natasha would have to be careful not to ruffle their feathers. Others had been killed due to undesirable behaviour on the transport ship, and there was something strange about this Kree that Natasha had been stuck with.

Finally alone, her fingers come up to feel the band around her throat. As if sensing what she was doing, the device hardens, sealing even more aggressively to her skin. There was no way to get her fingers under any part of it, and when she tries to pick at the metal part, it sends a jolt of electricity through her that is so unexpected and harsh it causes her to gasp.

Swallowing and getting the residual quiver under control, she leaves the device be. Better than a noose around her neck during a test of endurance and balance – better than being drug through the mud with a choke chain after a failed exercise.

The mat on the floor is comfortable enough. There is no pillow. Natasha doesn’t try to go through the door, and she knows she can hold her bladder long enough that the tin in the corner will be unnecessary.

Tomorrow she’ll have to find out what the Kree’s preferences are, and address the rules she was to obey here. Food hadn’t been mentioned, nor personal hygiene. There lacked any semblance of a structure, and no obvious purpose for her. Oversight, or intentional slights?

Given her current handler, Natasha thought the odds were closer to oversight.

Folding her hands over her stomach, she closes her eyes, and makes herself sleep.

-

Natasha has been awake for forty-five minutes, the latter part of which she’s spent trying to stretch the soreness from last night out of her bones. She’s not sure exactly how long she’s slept, but would put it in the ballpark of six hours. 

She’s in the middle of the small room, her toes touching the opposite walls, when Vers opens the door.

“Get up,” Vers says, and she’s undeniably tired, the sleep not quite gone from her eyes.

Natasha gets up immediately, following Vers to the kitchen nook. Vers opens a cupboard, behind which is a vending-machine like dispenser. “Food comes out of here – there’s trays on the shelf behind you. Press the button,” Vers tells her, and Natasha takes a tray, puts it under the dispenser, and presses the orange button.

There’s a prolonged grinding noise and a warble, and a thick, coarse, damp powder comes down out of the shoot.

“Sustenance powder – there’s better stuff in the hall but I don’t care enough to make the trip.” Vers grabs her own tray and Natasha steps out of the way as she dispenses the powder onto her own plate. “Eating things in here,” she says, pressing a panel on the wall. It flips down a tray of utensils, and the wall behind it is a black void. “The ‘bots refill them. They live in the walls,” Vers tells her. “Grab some. Cups on the shelf by the trays – spout is under the dispenser. There’s just water up here. Dirty stuff goes in the bin, close the lid when you’re done. A ‘bot will come by eventually and take it away.”

Natasha takes a spoon, fills her cup from the spout and follows Vers into the living area. There’s a table in the corner with three chairs, a mug of something already in front of where Vers is sitting. Natasha hesitates before sitting adjacent to her. The mess hall was one thing, but this was Vers’ home, and some masters had preferred to exert their dominance in every facet within the home environment. 

“Do you usually eat at the table?” Vers asks, and Natasha pulls her hands away from the tray and the glass, putting them into her lap. Another mistake - and so early. When she pushes back her chair, Vers throws out a hand out to stop its progress, “Don’t – that was actually a question.”

Natasha’s halfway up from her chair, and she pauses before sitting down slowly. “I’m sorry for my impertinence,” she apologizes, and Vers shakes her head,

“You weren’t. I wasn’t scolding you. You hesitated, I was curious. Sit down,” she tells Natasha and Natasha sits back down. “Eat,” Vers tells her, and Natasha starts to eat mechanically.

“I don’t care what you do or where you do it,” Vers says, “As long as you listen to me when I tell you to do something. And answer my questions honestly,” she adds.

Natasha puts her spoon on the table, lays her hands flat. Finally, some solid directives, and she wants to take advantage of the moment, so she attempts to answer the question Vers had asked: “I would eat at a table. Usually alone. On the floor for punishment or as a form of discipline. I often wasn’t at the table with a master, but when I was I would stand against the wall or kneel at their side.”

“Oh,” Vers says - she hadn’t been expecting that. It was the most that Natasha had offered up willingly so far. The hierarchical tradition she came from seemed quite strict, and it didn’t quite jive with Vers’ own viewpoint. Natasha had said she’d been a weapon for her country, but her experiences seemed to go beyond a tactical scope. “Well, you don’t have to do that here.”

“I shouldn’t have presumed,” Natasha says quietly, and she doesn’t pick up her spoon.

Vers waits, but when Natasha remains motionless she says, “Eat,” and isn’t surprised when Natasha starts eating in the same breath.

The powder is mostly tasteless, and there’s still half of Vers’ left when she finishes. Natasha keeps shoveling it away diligently, but Vers is starting to think that has less to do with her level of hunger, and more to do with wanting to follow her directive.

“You don’t have to finish it if you’re full,” Vers tells her, and Natasha finishes her bite, but leaves the rest and says,

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Eat whenever you’re hungry,” Vers tells her, “Don’t eat if you’re not. Drink when you’re thirsty. Do whatever you need to do.”

“Follow your instructions,” Natasha recites, “And answer your questions honestly.”

“Sure.” Right, that whole good memory. 

But now that they’re both finished, Vers is left with a dilemma. The training, weapons maintenance, and watches that usually filled non-mission days were paused or exempt when a Kree warrior had an asset. The idea was that maintaining an asset would take up the time otherwise spent keeping the ship running, and once training was done, you would have less time in-between missions. 

Except Natasha didn’t seem to need any training. 

She keeps her eyes on the table while Vers stares at her, and they sit in silence. This was going to get old pretty fast - but the training rooms will be full right now, and Vers isn’t sure what else they can do. 

Unless… there is one thing Vers likes to do, but she rarely has the opportunity for it. Natasha is the perfect excuse. 

“Clean these up, I’m going to grab something,” Vers says, and Natasha takes their trays and goes into the nook, and Vers goes into her bedroom. 

The living quarters are typically warmer than the rest of the ship, and she takes another layer for both of them. Vers throws one of the jackets at Natasha, and puts the other one on herself. Natasha gives her a questioning look and Vers nods - yes, she’s supposed to put it on. Vers wonders how much of her life prior to here was micromanaged. 

“Come on,” she tells Natasha, and she takes them around to the opposite side of the ship. People pass them here and there, and Vers salutes Att-Lass as the other Kree comes down the hallway. Att-Lass, unfortunately, stops. 

Begrudgingly, Vers stops as well, decorum dictating it. 

“New asset?” Att-Lass asks, and Vers nods, 

“Natasha.” 

“A human,” Att-Lass observes, and Vers isn’t sure why it should be that interesting. They didn’t get many humans, and most of the humans were useless to them, but it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. 

Vers shrugs, angling to finish the conversation as soon as she can. “Yep. Your skills of observation continue to impress me.” 

Att-Lass doesn’t take kindly to the quip: “And the amount of faith Yon-Rogg and the Supreme Intelligence place in you continues to astound me.” 

It’s a lame comeback, and Vers raises her eyebrows. “Oh, wow. Cutting. I would love to chat, but we have to go.” 

“We’ll see how flippant you are when we take her off ship for the first time.” 

Vers is already walking away, which she knows will frustrate Att-Lass even more. “As long as you’re not there, we should make out just fine,” she calls out behind her. Natasha, thankfully, follows her as soon as she starts moving. Vers leans into Natasha, telling her in a whisper: “He’s sour because he got his last asset killed.” 

Natasha nods once, “Understood, ma’am.” 

Somehow the piece of information feels like a bullet coming from Natasha. It had been meant as a bit of fun gossip, and she’s not surprised that Natasha both doesn’t engage, and takes it too seriously. 

Instead of taking what was sure to be a crowded elevator, Vers takes them down the spiral stairs, round and round and round until she can hear Natasha breathing behind her. “Almost there,” she says, though she’s sure Natasha could go down another hundred levels. 

The human had strength, and stamina, but more than that, Vers was getting the sense that she was incredibly intentional. 

Vers stops on one of the lowest levels, stepping through the door. They’re in the guts of the ship now, the cavernous space housing all sorts of ship-essential components. There are usually a few people milling about and working, but the size of the space means it’s unlikely to run into someone. 

Luck isn’t on their side though, and a little blue Kree boy looks at that suspiciously. 

“Hiya,” Vers waves at him; a trainee recruit, probably, and he looks young, barely old enough to have left his parents. He has a mousy grey uniform on, and Vers thinks it’s more likely that he’s an adopted stowaway. “Don’t mind us.” 

“You’re not authorized to be here,” he has the gall to tell her. The friendliness drops from Vers’ face, and she takes her time to walk over to him. Every step has him stooping a little further down, until he looks like he sorely regrets saying anything. 

“Kid,” she tells him with no room for nonesene, “Elite Starforce is authorized to be anywhere on this ship. I can put you between the walls to take over for the ‘bots if I wanted to. If I were you, I’d go back to scrubbing out grease and pretend we weren’t here.” 

Significantly cowed, the kid mutters an apology and pointedly ignores them. 

“Great,” she smiles, and she starts making her way through the mechanical area, until they reach a set of steel steps. “Almost there.” The lights click on as they reach the bottom of the stairs, illuminating the wide mouth of an entry tunnel that leads to the hull of the ship. 

Ropes and clips, tools and machinery surround the tunnel, as well as a few storage bins and lockers. “Zip up your jacket,” she tells Natasha, and she pauses to pull a harness out of one of the lockers. 

With two fingers she gestures Natasha closer. “It’s a little excessive,” she apologizes, and Natasha helpfully raises her arms as Vers slips the harness over her. “I used to use a clip, but I don’t think you’ve had much experience doing this.” After she clips the front straps, she crouches and clips together the loops that go around Natasha’s thighs. Then she passes the strap from the back of the harness between Natasha’s legs and clips it to the front. 

“Snug?” she asks, even as she’s pulling at the shoulders and making sure there isn’t any give in the torso straps. 

“Snug ma’am,” Natasha tells her. 

Vers hooks her finger into the front anchor point and walks Natasha over to the railing that surrounds the mouth of the tunnel. There’s a gap between the railings where a ladder disappears into darkness. Taking one of the rope tethers clipped to the side railing, she attaches it to the anchor of Natasha’s harness. “If you do okay this time, we can see about using a sleeker setup.” 

The curiosity is beginning to shift into something else on Natasha’s face, and when Vers makes her stand directly in front of the gap in the rails, it disappears completely. Resigned calmness has replaced it, and Vers grins at her. “Do you trust me?” she asks, and Natasha answers, 

“Yes ma’am,” too quickly for it to be true. 

“That’s okay,” Vers smiles at her, letting that one go. “I still wouldn’t let you fall.” 

She pushes Natasha through the gap in the railing and sees her body tense as she loses contact with the ground - instead of alarm her face turns to determination and she grabs the rope where it attaches to the clip. It’s all for naught. The lights click on as the gravity changes steadily, and Natasha doesn’t even reach the end of the tether before she’s floating. 

Vers jumps in after her, naturally slowing to a stop just under Natasha. “Zero gravity,” she explains, grinning at Natasha, and then says loudly, “Lights off and close the hatch.”

The lights snap off, plunging them into darkness. A little bit of light comes through the hole they’d come entered from, but a plate quickly cuts that off. 

In the darkness, the specialized glass of the hull becomes transparent, allowing the universe around them to come into view. 

Vers propels herself upward using her photonic energy, until she’s in a position where she can grab a strap at the back of Natasha’s harness. Once she’s got a good hold, she gently flares some photonic energy out of her hand to propel them closer to the glass at the back of the ship.

They drift to a stop a few feet away from the bottom of the glass. Vers manipulates herself so she’s floating next to Natasha - Yon-Rogg always got upset when she used her powers here, but she figures it’s the best place for practise. The need for precision and control is infinitely more helpful in learning to control them then his lessons were. 

The view outside the glass goes on infinitely, and it never seizes to amaze her. “Ever seen space like this?” Vers asks, looking at Natasha. Natasha shakes her head, her hands awkwardly in front of her like she’s floating in a pool. 

“No ma’am,” Natasha whispers. 

“This is my favourite spot on board,” Vers reveals quietly, and she already feels more peaceful. “Sometimes when we’re passing through nebula’s I’ll come down and watch. Look,” she says, and she extends her hand out next to Natasha’s head, turning her with her arm towards the right place. “See that smudge to the left of the cluster of stars?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“That’s Hyzanth’s galaxy. We’re coming from there. And we’re going -” Vers takes her shoulder strap and maneuvers them to the opposite end of the hull. The view here is slightly compromised by the needlenose of the ship, but she lies Natasha flat on the glass, watching the wonder on her face before pushing herself down to lie next to her. “Towards Zoh’s Flask,” she finishes. 

Natasha stays on her elbows, but Vers folds her arms and puts her chin on them. “The cluster of giant planets down there is catching the light from a star somewhere to the right of us. See the gas clouds forming around the one in the middle - that means it’s uninhabitable for species like you and me. There are lifeforms down there, but their biology is different than ours.” 

“There’s so many colours,” Natasha mutters, and Vers thinks that probably awe in her voice. The first time she was down here, she gawked for hours. 

“Different gases, some plasma, dust, rocks, debris,” Vers tells her. “We have technology that changes the way we perceive the spectrum of colours as well, to make it easier to identify what exactly the clouds are composed of.” 

The gas clouds in question contain all the colours of the rainbow, the most striking the brilliant red near the centre of it, and the blue that creates a band around the outside. Green and yellow swirl among the in-between, purple bursts peppered here and there. 

Natasha finally sinks down from her elbows, adopting the same position as Vers. “It’s remarkable.” 

“Isn’t it?” Vers grins - Yon-Rogg doesn’t understand her obsession with this particular view, and none of the other Kree seem interested to be here unless there’s something they need to fix below the ship. “I just love the view from up here.” 

They pass the cluster of planets slowly, watching a cloud elongate and stretch until it pulls away from the planet, trailing wisps of cloud behind it. By that point it’s almost past them, and another bubbling cloud is rising up to take its place. 

Once they leave the planets behind, they’re left with just the inky darkness of the universe and the pinpricks of sparkling stars. “We’re set on a course for Anozzo. There’s rumours of a colony of Skrulls there we need to take care of before they get a chance to be able to coordinate an attack against us. It’ll take a while to get there - thankfully the Skrulls aren’t that organized.” 

Natasha only nods to that, but her eyes track a comet in the distance. 

For a long while they stay like that, Vers sinking into the chilly glass, completely content. Out here, surrounded by endless potential and beauty, it was easy to let her mind drift. 

Eventually, Natasha shifts next to her and peers past Vers at something in the distance. 

“What?” Vers asks, looking in that direction - there’s a ship speeding towards them. “Oh - that’s fine. See the emblem on the wing?” A circle with an inverted triangle, three halves of a square coming together at 120 degrees in a pinwheel. “That identifies it as a Kree ship. We launch on mission from here, using jump points if we need to.” 

Natasha nods, her face dim from the illumination of distant stars. She’s enjoying this as much as Vers is, so Vers says, “I’ll teach you how to navigate the stars. It’s always useful to be able to do it in emergencies, and you seem smart enough for it.” 

“Thank you ma’am,” Natasha whispers and Vers smiles. It’ll give them something to do, too. 

Not too long after the Kree ship has disappeared, the hatch above them opens with a whine, and they both look up. 

“Vers!” Yon-Rogg shouts down, and Vers sighs, 

“Looks like we’re busted,” she mutters to Natasha. “What?” she yells back to him.

He sounds tense when he answers: “What are you doing down there?” 

“Training!” Vers yells back, winking at Natasha. She can see Yon-Rogg’s head drop, and his hand comes up to touch his forehead. Ah, yes, that’s the tell tale sign that he’s going to yell at her about her impulses again. 

“Get up here,” he requests tiredly, though he’s stopped yelling, which is his way of yelling. “Now.” 

“We’ll come back,” Vers tells Natasha quietly, who looks like she wants to stay the hell out of the situation. Vers grabs the shoulder strap of Natasha’s harness, and launches them up towards the opening. 

Near the top quarter of the room, the artificial gravity of the ship starts to press down on her, and she throws Natasha through the opening before using her other hand to help her make it to the top with some semblance of balance. 

“What have we said about using your powers on the ship?” Yon-Rogg starts, and Vers manages to land softly in front of him. Not using her powers on the ship makes her less practised and rusty. 

“I have them completely under control,” she reassures, and she sees that Natasha’s on her knees again, behind Yon-Rogg; probably exactly where Vers had tossed her to. She preempts Yon-Rogg’s next question with: “Natasha’s never experienced zero gravity - that’s a pretty important aspect of space travel, wouldn’t you say?” 

“And you’re terrorizing recruits because -?” 

“They should mind their own business,” she answers, and Yon-Rogg sighs. 

“There are protocols in place for a reason, Vers. You shouldn’t be acting on impulse.” 

“It wasn’t an impulse,” Vers explains, “It was an experience my asset needed. Isn’t that the point - to prepare them for missions?” 

Yon-Rogg isn’t interested in arguing with her this time. “Next time, follow the protocols. I don’t want to be dragged down here again.” 

He leaves, and Vers mostly manages to not roll her eyes. “Come here,” she tells Natasha, and Natasha stands and walks over to her. Natasha’s carefully not looking at her, and Vers sighs. “It’s his job to be all doom and gloom.” Vers clips the tether back to the rail, and starts to undo her harness. “We can start with the basics, but it might take some time to learn. We’ll come down here again, don’t worry. Did you like it?” Vers asks, and Natasha looks at her for the first time since her face had been lit up with the glow from the stars. 

It seems softer now, like a bit of that star light had been absorbed, and had smoothed out some of the edges of her face. But she’s looking at Vers like she has a question. “What?” Vers asks when she gets tired of waiting for it, and Natasha blinks at her, 

“Nothing ma’am. I appreciate anything you have to teach me.” 

“Mhmm,” Vers scoffs - it sounds like recited bullshit to her, but she’s starting to figure out that Natasha’s default is to try to play it safe. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to loosen up a bit. I don’t know what your past masters expected, but I don’t want an iron nugget for an asset.” 

“Understood, ma’am,” Natasha says, but she’s not looking at Vers. 

It might take some time for the message to sink in. Vers leaves the mechanical bay and doesn’t bother to see if Natasha’s following her, because she knows that she is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Corporal Punishment. If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> Thank you everyone for commenting and kudos-ing; it's such a thrill to get each one! So so exciting and fun. Glad people are enjoying it, it makes me even more excited to post :P
> 
> Timeline wise... Carol and Nat are mid/late 20s? Maybe a few years prior to where we see them in the MCU.

The next day, armed with three tablets, an electronic writing pad, four hologram projection bumpers (the size of Natasha’s thumb), and various items from the kitchen area, Vers begins teaching Natasha how to navigate space. Natasha looks at the smattering of utensils, cups, and trays and tries not to let her doubt show. She sits straight in her chair, pays close attention to Vers’ words and makes sure everything sticks in her mind. 

They start with terminology, but Natasha memorized it all last night so after quizzing her, Vers jumps right into it. 

They cover the variables - the ship’s own motion, the distance and time travelled already, the distance and time to travel, the speed being traveled at, the planets and moons along the route (for gravitational purposes) and what the Kree call waypoints. Stars and jump points were big enough topics that they were to be addressed on a later date. 

“This would be a waypoint,” Vers says, and she flips a cup upside down and puts it on the table. “It’s a moon,” she adds, and Natasha’s grateful for the clarification, because that had not been obvious. Vers takes a circular tray and puts it next to the cup: “Planet.” Vers adds a few more moons and planets, using a tablet at the far end as: “Space debris - insert whatever inanimate thing is getting in your way and trying to kill you.” 

“So this would be...?” Vers asks, and Natasha looks at the spoon Vers is holding up, and then the entire bizarre makeshift diorama Vers has created for her; loosen up a bit, Vers had said, so Natasha takes the risk and says what she really, desperately, wants to say:

“It’s a spoon.” 

Vers starts to clarify when she realizes what has happened; her eyes widen and she can barely contain her excitement: “You just made a joke.” 

Natasha looks at her blankly, neither confirming nor denying. 

“Yes. Good. Do more of that,” Vers tells her with the spoon. “You’re correct, this is a spoon. But it’s also your ship. Take it,” Vers says, and Natasha takes the ship-spoon from her. It feels like this entire lecture was made to explain navigation to a child, and she hopes that Vers introduces some more challenging aspects, soon. 

As if reading her thoughts, Vers sets up the hologram projectors, then gets them to scan the table. After a minute, the four devices activate and throw a 3D image into the air. “Technology does most of it, but the basics are important to know,” Vers tells her, and she’s manipulating the cups and trays within the hologram so they’re on different planes, assigning each a pre-created role from a hologram menu. 

“In order to get from point A,” Vers says, poking at the hologram, and a star appears with ‘A’ hovering above it, “To point B,” a flick of her fingers and a ‘B’ appears at the other end of the table, “You need to know where to start at the beginning. You can learn stars and planets and how all those variables manipulate each other - that’s how you navigate without radar or instruments. If you know enough, you’ll be able to identify specifics, head in with a rough idea, hopefully not get sucked into a planet’s gravitational pull. Put your spoon up there,” Vers tells her, and Natasha puts the head of her spoon at the starting point. 

Vers specifies the spoon’s role in the program, and the hologram pulls up some ship information. Speed, gravitational resistance, shield integrity, etc.

“Say we’ve already mapped this out,” Vers throws up a route, which flashes in red. “I’ll teach you that later - or probably one of the modules will. There’s hundreds of simulations too, but I think being able to manipulate actual space is the easiest way to wrap your head around it. Follow the path?” 

Natasha moves her spoon along the line, noticing the numbers shifting - every centimetre changes the numbers on her own specs, though shield integrity remains decent. 

“You want to keep gravity over zero,” Vers points out, “But see how that impacts your speed and energy consumption?” 

“Too slow and I’ll run out of energy, and be stuck in a loop.” 

“Exactly. That’s bad,” Vers agrees, and she moves the planets’ moon-cup on the table, causing it to orbit closer - Natasha’s numbers plummet when it gets too close, and the hologram chimes and flashes a ‘warning’ near the top of its span. “That’s bad too. Try to avoid that. Make sense?” she asks, and Natasha nods. Basic as it is, of course it makes sense. 

Vers gestures in the hologram and the thing comes to life, the moons and planets rotating independently of their source cutlery. 

“Give it?” Vers asks, and Natasha passes the spoon back to her. She watches carefully as Vers follows the ship’s red route; Vers varies her speed to dodge moons and times the planetary passes so that she can use the force of gravity as a slingshot, saving energy and pushing the speed of the spacecraft. 

Natasha realizes that she had been wrong, before. Vers wasn’t an idiot, she just had a completely different skill set and area of expertise. This is where she excelled - it doesn’t look too hard but Vers never lets the spoon encroach on any limit that gives her a warning, and she takes advantage of the field to the fullest. 

Vers gets to the end and comes around the table, passing the spoon back to Natasha. “Give it a try.” 

Natasha barely gets two inches before the system is blaring at her, and she tenses but Vers chalks it up to getting used to the new interface and gives her a pass. 

When Natasha gets to her first planet, she’s careful to track the moon, but she’s going too slowly so her ship starts to crawl and she clenches her jaw, helpless to fix anything as the ship-spoon is overtaken and destroyed by the cup-moon. 

She waits for the rebuke but Vers gently takes the spoon to her and demonstrates what she did wrong - the gravity is an orb, and she needs to go faster to get through it, push the engines a little harder - or not get that close the next time she tries. Natasha passes the next time, but Vers has already disappeared onto the couch with her tablet. 

The second tray-planet has no moon but it has rings that wreak havoc on her readings. Vers gets up off the couch when the hologram starts chiming, and Natasha puts the spoon down, wondering what the punishment for failure in this sort of exercise will be. Vers sits down opposite of her, rewinds the hologram. 

Vers explains how the speed at which the planet spins causes the bulging of its equator, which presents itself as a condensed ring of debris and elements. “It’s different then a spiral galaxy, but we’ll go over that later.”

When Natasha manages to pass it, Vers wanders away again, only to be recalled a few minutes later by the warning chime as Natasha’s spoon-ship is obliterated by the moon of another planet, though she did manage to dodged the first two. 

Natasha puts the spoon down, frustrated at herself. It must be annoying to Vers, coming and going like this because her asset can’t manage to grasp these concepts. Vers doesn’t admonish her yet, just resets it and asks, “Do you know what you did wrong?” 

Natasha nods, “Yes ma’am,” anticipating that maybe Vers operates under a three-strike rule. But instead of the anticipated punishment, Vers says, 

“Good. Redo it - you can reset the simulation yourself. Call me when you’re done, or if you need help.”

Vers leaves again, to her bedroom this time, and Natasha stares at the hologram. She would think it was a trick, but Vers thus far hadn’t proven to be a trickster. 

Every time the warning triggers, or her ship is destroyed, Natasha pauses to see if this will be the moment, if there is in fact a limit to the number of times she can screw up. Every time Vers doesn’t appear, she feels a little less steady. 

The space debris destroys her five times in quick succession, but still Vers doesn’t come. Her tablet, opened to an entry on space travel, doesn’t offer any insights. Maybe it’s a test of humility, then. Natasha goes into the bedroom, kneels down by Vers’ bed. 

“Why are you kneeling?” Vers asks as she’s in the process of doing so, and Natasha says, 

“The space debris keeps destroying me, ma’am.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s a hard one - here, I’ll explain it to you.” 

Natasha follows Vers out of the room, frowning. Was there even a line at all? 

Slowly, over the course of the day, she pushes more and more - a few more gentle humour jokes raising her voice for a word after one of Vers’ explanations. At one point she takes the spoon from Vers without permission, and Vers smiles at her and watches her expectantly. It hadn’t been an action of initiative, and when there’s no retribution, Natasha wonders if she had masked her intentional disrespect too well. 

It seems like Natasha’s own expectations are more demanding than Vers’, and when she fails to complete the simulation without fault for the fourth time in a row she sits down at the table and forces herself not to bend the spoon in frustration. 

Vers had done it so elegantly, so quickly, and here she was, struggling to stay in the lines. They should have stuck to the children’s version, without the hologram, since it seemed she was destined to fail at the simple task of staying in the lines. 

It is intentional that she choses this moment to show her frustration. Vers had been alternating between watching her, and reading on her own tablet from the couch. The sound of Natasha falling into the chair draws Vers’ attention, and she puts down the tablet. 

Finally, Natasha thinks, relieved. 

“Natasha,” Vers says, and Natasha gets ready for the reprimand she’s been waiting for all day, ready for the punishment that will wash out the disappointment and frustration in herself and give her something active to focus on - pleasing her master. But instead Vers says, “Let’s take a break. We’ll get something to eat and then fight for a bit, yeah?” 

“I failed,” Natasha feels the need to point out, and she’s done it so many times already that she doesn’t understand why Vers isn’t seeing it. 

Vers puts her tablet on the couch and stands. “So? It’s hard. Everyone fails sometimes. Let’s go.” 

It’s more of an order this time and Natasha stands up, glaring at the hologram. It shuts off as if to spite her, but it’s really just that Vers is already out the door and it’s gone to sleep. 

Maybe a break is what she needed, because when she comes back the next morning, her muscles pleasantly aching from an unsettlingly routine fighting session that lacked any passive aggressive retribution for her mistakes, she manages to make it through on her first go. 

Still, now she’s curious as to what sort of disobedience or disrespect will push Vers over the edge, and what that would even look like. It’s an answer she needs to know so she can modify her behaviour accordingly, and the most frustrating part is that Vers doesn’t seem even the least inclined to show her. 

-

Natasha was a model trainee. More proficient and much more motivated to attaining perfection than Vers had ever been. She was attentive when Vers spoke and asked insightful questions. And after she stopped anticipating Vers to react negatively to making mistakes, she seemed to take the onerous upon herself to come down hard. 

To make things easier, Vers programmed the door to the holding room to slide open each morning. Natasha had been awake every time she went in to get her, and this way Natasha could use the time in the morning to get some practise in. Still, by the time Vers was up, Natasha would be standing by the table with two trays and two glasses ready to go, no matter how many times Vers insisted that she didn’t have to wait. 

There were some things Natasha was uncompromising in and Vers figured the path of least resistance in those cases was to let them be. This seemed one of those things Vers wouldn’t be able to bend, but she consoled herself with the fact that Natasha was no longer asking her to use the bathroom or get herself some food. 

Navigation had come easily to Vers, and it seemed Natasha had the same instinct about it. She hated breaks, but Vers didn’t have the patience to hang out all day. Yon-Rogg wanted to keep up their own training schedule so she would disappear in the afternoons and come back to Natasha still sitting at the table, trying to self-teach herself the next concepts. 

Most nights were spent fighting. Natasha’s creativity on the mat provided a challenge if Vers forced a limit onto herself to not hurt Natasha. There were unintentional bruises, but no broken bones or excessive bleeding (other than that one nosebleed she gave Natasha, which hadn’t been her fault. Natasha swung her face into Vers elbow before Vers had realized she was there and - there was a lot of bleeding that time, though the creepiest thing had been Natasha’s stoic determination to trudge onwards and ignore the blood running down her face and pooling on the mat). 

Vers was itching to get off the ship again, and it had been almost ten cycles since Natasha had joined them. Natasha was onto the more complicated celestial navigation simulations now, flying blind without a pre-prepared route or much information about the surrounding environment. She had free reign of the quarters while Vers was gone, and they’d spent so much time together, Vers had no misgivings about her loyalty or obedience. 

Which was why it was so disconcerting when her wristband pinged her with a warning that Natasha was accessing restricting tech. Vers is walking back from training with Yon-Rogg when the sound of the wristband draws both of their attention. 

“What’s that?” Yon-Rogg asks, and Vers frowns, looking closer at the notification. 

“Natasha’s accessing my personal tablet.” It must be a mistake though, Natasha knew better than that. But there was no one else who would be able to activate it, and the wristband didn’t lie. 

“You let her do that?” Yon-Rogg asks, and the admonishment is on the tip of his tongue.

Vers shakes her head, “No. I told her not to. Why would she do that?” 

Yon-Rogg presses his lips together, and Vers realizes that she probably should have kept that thought to herself. “Assets have a mind of their own,” Yon-Rogg lectures, “You shouldn’t be letting her roam freely anyway.” 

“But she’s been good,” Vers counters. Putting her in the holding room seemed like a waste of everyone’s time when there wasn’t any need to. 

Yon-Rogg shrugs, but he lets the point drop. “Then you must punish her for it.”

“How?” Another thought she probably should’ve kept to herself, but it’s too late for it now.

The look Yon-Rogg gives her makes Vers think she’s about to be told to read some long, boring document. “She’s your asset Vers, you decide what’s appropriate. Something that will resonate and deter. You can beat her or send her to the cages, deprive her – the options are endless.”

“I don’t want to do any of that,” Vers tells him; the thought of beating Natasha because she was curious…

Yon-Rogg is looking at her like she maybe doesn’t have this under control. “Are you sure you’re up for this? If you’re getting queasy at the thought of punishing an asset that’s stepping out of bounds-”

“I can do it,” Vers tells him, then self-edits her previous reluctance: “I’m thinking about the best way to do it.” 

“Don’t think too hard,” Yon-Rogg tells her, “No good will come of that.”

He leaves her, ducking into his quarters. 

Vers walks back to her own quarters slowly - Natasha’s put the tablet back down, and the notification has turned from red to grey, indicating it’s now categorized as a past event. 

They had talked about Natasha only using Vers’ tablet when she was told to - Vers was sure they’d had the conversation. So the action was a willful disregard of the instruction, one that confuses Vers more than it upsets her. 

Natasha was smart. She should’ve known that Vers would know about unauthorized access - or at least that her collar would monitor her electronic traffic. 

There was no question that there had to be consequences. But the thought of sending Natasha down to the cages for such a slight transgression was overkill. Starving her seemed senseless, and Vers didn’t want to interrupt the infrequent candor she’d manage to ease Natasha into. 

Yet, a punishment was unavoidable. 

Natasha’s at the table when Vers returns – as unassuming as ever, studying her tablet and making notes on the electrical pad next to her. She looks up when Vers enters, waits a moment for any indication that she’s needed, and goes back to the tablet when she sees Vers shake her head.

But Natasha had been in the bedroom ten minutes ago, looking up Kree biology on Vers’ tablet. And while the subject matter wasn’t necessarily an issue, the tablet itself was confidential and restricted.

“Everything all right, ma’am?” Natasha asks when Vers hasn’t moved for another minute, still a picture of innocence.

She has to know that Vers would notice. It would be uncharacteristically sloppy of Natasha to think she would be able to get away with doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

Vers doesn’t answer Natasha this time, coming up behind her at the table. “What’re you working on?” Vers asks, leaning over Natasha’s shoulder to look at her screen. 

Natasha angles the device so Vers has a clear look, “Simulation, ma’am.”

“Yeah?”

Natasha definitely knows something’s up, watching Vers intently from the corner of her eye. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or recoil when Vers puts her hand on the back of her head, twisting her fingers into her hair and pulling Natasha against the back of the chair. The nightly fighting matches have made physical contact less awkward, though it does feel strange to be in such an aggressive position. 

But it was what was expected, and even Natasha’s lack of alarm makes Vers feel like she’s the only one who’s adverse to exerting her dominance physically in this relationship. 

Natasha looks up at her questioningly, but she doesn’t fight. “Busted,” Vers explains, and the smooth look of innocence slips off and is replaced by one of contrition and acceptance.

“Ma’am-” 

Vers pulls Natasha off the chair before she can offer any explanation or excuses, releasing her hair and twisting her around. “Go to my bedroom,” Vers tells her, letting her go with a little push, and Natasha moves off silently, willingly.

Vers knows what she’s going to do now, and she knows that as perfunctory as it all is, it’s necessary. An asset needed to know their place, and sometimes the only way to show them was with a firm hand. 

Natasha’s kneeling in the middle of the room, her head bowed, her hands behind her back. The stillness in her body is unnerving, and Vers opens her closet to pull out the cane Yon-Rogg had given her with the collar. She had taken it thoughtlessly at the time, not really thinking she would use it. 

“Put your arms out,” Vers tells her, and Natasha extends her arms. “Palm’s up,” Vers says regretfully, and Natasha twists her wrists – it appears she knows where this is going now, and she adjusts her arms accordingly, bending slightly at the elbow, pushing her shoulders down from her ears.

“I did tell you not to touch my tablet, right?” Vers asks, and Natasha says,

“Yes ma’am,” softly.

“Okay, so we’re on the same page.” Vers sighs and then brings the cane down across Natasha’s open palms. The skin welts almost instantly, but Natasha only takes a controlled, deep breath in. “Are you going to do it again?” Vers asks, and Natasha says,

“No ma’am,” just as softly, still composed and measured.

Vers brings down the cane again, pulling back just a little so she doesn’t break the skin. The meaty part of Natasha’s palm is starting to blister, blood beaded just below the surface. Another deep, controlled breath from Natasha, and Vers lets her complete a cycle before bringing the cane down again.

This time there’s a noticeable tremble in Natasha’s arms, even though the rest of her remains still. It takes a few seconds for Natasha to get the tremble under control, and Vers waits it out patiently. When she strikes again, there’s a noticeable shift in Natasha’s demeanour even though the impact must hurt more; it’s a stoic calmness, almost like Natasha’s going into a trance. Her breath hitches when the cane connects, but her hands don’t move, the tremble dissipating even more quickly.

“One more,” Vers tells Natasha gently, and the words take a moment to register, pulling Natasha out of her calmness so that when Vers brings down the cane again and splits open an inch of skin on her left palm, she can’t contain the sharp inhale. Vers doesn’t lift the cane off Natasha’s palms this time, instead letting it roll into the dip of Natasha’s hands.

The two welts, one on each hand, are fresh and angry, swelling up as blood tries to find an escape. The rupture on her left hand barely seeps, more of a shine than a pool of blood. Vers stands, and uses the tip of her boot to nudge at Natasha’s ass, prompting her to kneel up. “Don’t move,” Vers tells her, and Natasha’s stares straight ahead, maintaining a stiff line from the tip of her head to the bottom of her knees.

When Vers leaves, Natasha finds that her hands still shake here and there, and she clenches her jaw together. This is nothing compared to the punishments doled out in the red room, but the lack of brutality has her shaken more deeply than if Vers had broken every bone in her hands with the cane.

The fact that Vers is capable of punishing her is vaguely relieving. Natasha had been wondering if she would be able to do anything to disappoint or anger Vers, but now that she knows that a line existed, she can move forward with a baseline. 

The thin implement lays motionless in her hands as she clamps down on the distressed nerves, forcing them still. She’d been ready to take a hundred of these, and had been preparing to slip into a mindset where she could take the amplified power of her Kree master.

And yet. Vers had yanked her out of it. It was uncharacteristic, and a fault she couldn’t allow herself again. Not many handlers had demanded an active participant in punishment, interested in only imparting the maximum amount of damage. It had been a mistake to believe that Vers would be the same.

The cane rolls a millimetre and Natasha brings herself out of her head. The task would be simple if not for the protest of her nerves. She had felt Ver’s restraint, and the intentionality of the final strike that broke her skin.

Vers comes back sixteen minutes later, the whoosh of the door preceding the slight change in air temperature.

“Wash your hands and get in here,” Vers calls from the table, and Natasha closes her hands around the cane, standing in a fluid motion. The bathroom across from the holding room has automatic light sensors, and Natasha puts the cane between her teeth so she can turn on the taps without relinquishing it.

Given Vers’ track record, it’s likely that the implicated order to hold the cane was finished, yet it doesn’t feel over for Natasha. Her hands blossom with a renewed ache as she first rinses them, then rubs the dots of dried blood off with soap. The taste of blood on her tongue from the cane is more reminiscent of her experiences – and yet there’s not enough of it to linger in her mouth, the taste diluted by her saliva by the time she’s finished washing her hands.

Natasha takes the cane out of her mouth with the tips of her clean fingers, careful to avoid the areas with residual blood.

Vers is sitting at the table, a bag next to her, waiting expectantly. 

“Wipe it down,” Vers tells her, and Natasha takes a wet cloth of the table with stiff fingers, feeling the sting of the disinfectant as it brushes against her blistering skin. The cloth comes away with a patch of red, and she holds out the cane with the tips of her fingers to avoid getting it dirty again. “Good,” Vers says, and she kicks a chair out from the table with a foot, taking the cane and tossing it unceremoniously onto the couch.

“Sit,” Vers orders, and Natasha sits on the edge of the chair. “Hands on the table,” Vers tells her, and Natasha lays her knuckles on the table, flexing her hand outward to display the damage. “Wiggle your fingers,” Vers tells her, and Natasha does so, impervious to the pain that accompanies the action. Vers had tossed away the cane, and the bag of what looked like gauze and tape seemed to indicate this was almost over.

“Hurt?” Vers asks, and Natasha inclines her head,

“Yes ma’am.”

“Damaged?”

“No ma’am,” Natasha tells her – five strokes and barely broken skin, her hands would be fine in a day or two.

“Good. Lesson learned?” Vers asks, and Natasha nods this time,

“I apologize. I won’t disobey you again, ma’am.”

Vers doesn’t answer, but she’s staring at Natasha, and Natasha lifts her eyes to meet hers. Vers has an eyebrow raised and a lopsided smile. “Mhmm,” she says, and she takes the bottle of disinfectant off the table, “Sure.”

The disinfectant stings, lighting up Natasha’s nerve endings with a fiery burn as Vers wipes at her skin, intentionally a little rough. There’s a small tub of cream that Vers opens, and she applies a generous layer of it to Natasha’s welts. It all feels so strange, to have her master tend to the wounds of a punishment. Natasha lifts her hands as Vers takes the gauze, trying to be as cooperative as she can while Vers wraps her hands. 

“I told you to do three things,” Vers says when she’s finished, and Natasha’s still waiting for the next part of this, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Do what I need to do. Do what you tell me to do. Answer your questions honestly,” Natasha recites. 

“Yeah,” Vers tells her, surprised. “Those are the things. You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

And she takes the bag and goes to her room, leaving the door open. 

There still might be another shoe, Natasha tells herself, and she pulls the tablet closer to her. The lingering discomfort might be it, though it’s unlikely. If Vers wanted it to hurt, she wouldn’t have applied the salve that was easing the ache of the welts.

If Vers had wanted to hurt her, she could have broken her hands. 

What a curious master, this Kree was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/A. If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> Thank you so much for the response to this fic - I know I've said it already, but it really does make me smile every time I get a comment or a kudos. There's nothing better. It's seriously such a positive note in not the greatest-of-moments for us as a species all around. So thank you, wholeheartedly. 
> 
> I will say: there are chapters exploring things that have been mentioned - except for the question of one-shots. I'm gonna have to get through this first, but we'll see about those!

Natasha learns quickly that not all Kree are like Vers. Vers is the singular exception, a red flag sticking out in a sea of sand, bold and different and utterly unapologetic. Most of the other Kree either don’t notice the differences or intentionally overlook them – Yon-Rogg seems to have the best sense of it, and by his carefully patronizing remarks and heavy hand, Natasha thinks there’s a very real possibility he’s covering something up.

What that might be, she’s not sure, but she keeps an eye out, openly indifferentiable to the other members of Vers’ crew and willfully oblivious to directives that don’t fall in line with Vers’ wishes. Natasha is still figuring out her new master, and so far, she’s settled on the theory that Vers doesn’t really want to be a master. 

The first pre-mission meet Natasha attends, she fields half a dozen suggestions as to her proper place in the room. She watches the side of Vers’ head studiously, and when all of the suggestions fail to land, she stays at Vers’ shoulder, at a standing rest with her hands behind her back.

“You need to get her a suit if you think she’s ready,” Yon-Rogg tells Vers, and he’s the only one yet to look at Natasha.

Bron-Char rakes his eyes up and down Natasha’s body, and he licks his lips, “Or maybe just that collar would suffice.”

“Don’t be crass,” Yon-Rogg chides, and Natasha’s already pegged Bron-Char as a blowhard.

Natasha knows this is the next step in the process, but she’s still not sure what she’s doing here. Every member of the crew has a tablet with them, and there’s a device embedded into the ground that Natasha knows is a holograph machine.

Vers hasn’t told her much in way to prepare her, other than a cursory: ‘don’t be stupid’ and ‘don’t make me look bad’. Not sure what they’re waiting for, Natasha uses the time to see if any other Kree has tech embedded into their neck. Their skin is curiously naked. 

Att-Lass leans in across the table, addressing Vers: “You think her delicate human sensibilities can handle a surface op?”

Natasha makes a note that this one also doesn’t seem to like Vers very much. “She’ll fare better than your Dalton did,” Vers says coolly, and that snaps the mouth shut on Att-Lass.

“Stop it,” Yon-Rogg interrupts, disapprovingly. The tension dissipates and Natasha recognizes that he’s a real master, and he’s used to wielding his authority without being challenged. It has the effect of making him seem benevolent, and Natasha finds her dislike for him intensifying. “No need to fight. We’re all on the same team here. Right?”

It’s then that Yon-Rogg finally looks at her, and everyone else with the exception of Vers is looking at her too. Natasha doesn’t answer his question – she knows this kind of master, and can see the trap he’s trying to set. But she knows she isn’t here as a voice, she’s here as an asset, and assets didn’t speak out of turn.

Besides, it’s not a question for her, and once he realizes she’s not going to answer him, he smiles. “Good,” he says pleasantly, but Natasha can see the line of his jaw tightens, and he turns away from them to the holograph – his right arm flexes – a tell of some sort? – and it takes him longer to navigate the software than it should.

The irritation disappears off Vers quickly, and soon after that her attention follows. 

“Our target is a mountain in the Baska Valley, on Bodal,” Yon-Rogg says, and the holograph generates a 3D image of the place. “It’ll take about three hours to get there, once we leave the ship. We’ll be using jump point XD39.” 

Natasha is pleased that she knows which jump point that is, and she memorizes the seventeen levels that spiral downward through the mountain. 

“This is the base we’ll be infiltrating. Our schematics show it extends down but only the first thirteen levels are inhabited. There’s more information available in missions documents, and I expect everyone to read them.” 

Yon-Rogg points to Vers, “Vers will be our scout; the rest of us will set up a perimeter and prepare to lay siege.” 

“Shouldn’t a scout be proficient at stealth?” Minn-Erva asks with a smirk; Natasha’s unsurprised to hear that Vers is considered one of the less covert members of the crew. 

Vers has her mouth open for a comeback but Yon-Rogg gets there faster, “Power is more important than stealth, in this instance. Bron-Char, you’ll be primary support for Vers.” 

Natasha’s the primary support for Vers, she thinks to herself, but if the brute would make them feel better… 

The holograph switches to a model of what Natasha assumes will be their adversaries. “The Baskin have two seperate body components connected at the middle, and elongated legs and arms that grant them speed and agility on most surfaces. They communicate telepathically, and it’s unlikely you’ll hear them coming.” 

“That’s never been a problem for Vers,” Att-Lass quips, and Vers throws a three-fingered gesture towards him. 

Yon-Rogg speaks over them: “Now, there’s rumours that the Skrulls have advanced their DNA replication technology to a point where they may be able to dig deeper into the subconscious of their victims. If that were true, the Baskin would be the most likely source of that power.” 

“When did we realize that DNA technology might exist?” Vers asks, and she sits up a little straighter in her chair. 

“A mission out of the Kepler system had intelligence suggesting so.” 

It’s not an answer to the question, and the way Vers leans back in her seat suggests she also has the same thought. Her attention shifts around the room, turning to each member of her crew in turn, her face changing fractionally as her feelings for each is reflected in an upturn of her lip, or the slightest furrow of her brow.

“Our primary target is the cube that holds the schematics for the DNA replication technology. Once Vers has confirmed that the cube is in this location, the rest of us will go in and assist in retrieving it.” Vers’ attention shifts from the holographs that Yon-Rogg is using to the tablet in front of her – she passes through information too quickly to be absorbing it, only to return and tap a word Yon-Rogg has mentioned.

“Our secondary target is this stone: we have the capabilities to decrypt the cube, but with the stone, it will be much easier. The Being that developed this technology is called the Cataclysm - an entity that was born with the world it lives on. The details surrounding it are few, but we know it’s unlikely we’ll run into it. Be on the lookout; it’s rumoured to be very powerful. We may need to retreat and send in the Accusers if it does indeed show up.” 

Yon-Rogg goes on to rundown the terrain and a few strategies in case of complications. The Kree intel seems comprehensive, if too focused on the details. The speil doesn’t have a hope of keeping Vers engaged, and she seems grateful when it comes to an end. 

“Tomorrow, first thing then,” Yon-Rogg tells them, and everyone moves to leave. “Vers, a word.”

Yon-Rogg fixes Natasha with a stare, but Vers doesn’t tell her to leave so she stays where she is. “Vers,” Yon-Rogg says, his eyes flickering between them.

It’s enough for Vers to realize what he wants: “Oh, she’s fine.”

“A private word,” Yon-Rogg insists, and Vers sighs,

“Fine. Wait outside the door Natasha.” Natasha leaves, and she tucks herself into the alcove of the door to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible - and to try to see how sound-proof the doors here were. 

Once the door closes, Vers looks up at Yon-Rogg. Yon-Rogg raises his eyebrows at her, and she knows he’s doubting something, and while she can guess what it is, she doesn’t want to make it easy for him. “What?” 

He frowns at her, unhappy to be forced to explain himself: “Do you really think she’s ready?” 

“Yes.” Vers wouldn’t have brought Natasha here if that was the case. 

“After so short a time?” he asks. 

The thin layer of irritation that’s been growing since the meeting started grinds against her, makes her words sharper: “Yeah.” 

Yon-Rogg inhales, regarding her carefully. He’s easing up, probably because it’s not often she’s so terse. “It hasn’t been that long,” he explains, “It looks as though you’ve barely disciplined her.”

There could be a case made that what she does with Natasha is his business as her commander, but Vers has a feeling he wouldn’t see the situation the same way that she does. “I have,” she tells him shortly, but she doesn’t mention that she hadn’t enjoyed it. “Natasha doesn’t need it, she listens well and works hard.” 

Yon-Rogg sits on the table next to her, talking down to her: “Sometimes discipline is more about understanding, than it is about correction.”

Yes, she’s aware of that -- she stands, so the words don’t slip out. “We understand each other just fine.”

There’s that sigh again, the resigned ‘I’m going to trust you even if I know better’. She used to find it reassuring, but now... “And you understand she’ll be your responsibility on-planet?” 

“Of course,” Vers nods; the ‘duh’ obvious, and brings a small smile to Yon-Rogg’s face, 

“Take her down to the armoury and get a suit, then.”

Taking her leave, Vers exits through the door and Natasha steps in behind her unexpectedly. There’s nowhere she could have come from except right behind the door. “Were you lurking?” Vers asks, mostly to mask her surprise. 

“You didn’t want me to leave,” Natasha answers quietly, and it’s not an answer, but it is the truth. 

Vers doesn’t unpack what that means and instead keeps moving, seeming intent to clear the hallway before Yon-Rogg follows them out. Instead of going back to their quarters, Vers takes her to the elevator and they start heading down. Natasha doesn’t ask where they’re going.

“You were looking at a lot,” Vers tells her, and Natasha has by now deduced that she’ll be well aware when Vers is angry or disappointed with her.

Natasha raises her shoulders a quarter of an inch - she’s not so emboldened to entirely shrug yet, not here in public where they might be observed. “I’m learning, ma’am. The stimulation is nice.”

“Great - you can write it up for me when we get back, I got lost somewhere between the ground soil and water compositions.” Vers waves her hand in a way that suggests flippancy. And yet she’d absorbed enough to remark that it sounded like they’d be getting stuck in some mud at some point during the mission, and requested a clean pair of boots on board to change into.

The elevator opens to one of the bottom floors. Vers takes them down the hallway, and the chill in the air here is familiar - it’s the general vicinity of where Natasha had been held, when she first arrived. 

It’s not a long walk to a large room filled with shelves and stacks of various clothes and weapons. 

“We need a suit,” Vers tells the Kree that’s sitting at the desk. The Kree looks up from the small structure she had been building out of square cartridges. Her eyes regard Vers and Natasha, and when they register the Starforce emblem on Vers’ clothes, she sits up. 

“For yourself?”

“No, her,” Vers says, and the Kree glances at Natasha. 

“Asset?”

“Yeah.”

“Name?”

“Natasha. Human.”

The Kree taps something into her computer, then says, “Three stacks to the back and at the end. Paolo can assist with any adjustments.”

Vers smiles blandly. They move through the stacks, finding the specified one. Vers pulls a suit off the shelf, and a small being with blue antennas and an alligator jaw appears. “Human underthings,” it says, holding out some clothes. 

“Perfect – put those on first,” Vers tells Natasha, and Natasha strips down. Poalo stares at the ground but Vers watches her, and her eyes rake up and down Natasha’s body with what looks like curiosity. Natasha pulls the skin-tight underwear and bra-like band on, then steps into the green bodysuit.

It’s thicker than the body suits she’s worn before, and a little roomy in the shoulders. When she zips it up, Vers comes forward and starts to buckle it, tightening various straps. It fits more snuggly than the harness in the hull had, more streamlined and less bulky. 

“What kind of holster do you prefer?” Vers asks, and she smooths her hands over Natasha’s hips, follows the curve of her ass and then checks the fit around Natasha’s thighs clinically.

“Depends on the weapon,” Natasha answers honestly.

“Knife and a blaster.”

“How big are they?”

Paolo disappears with the unspoken request after a glance at Vers, who nods, and Ver’s hands are on Natasha’s torso now, checking the straps there, moving upwards. Vers’ hand comes to rest on the collar around Natasha’s neck, her other hand cupping Natasha’s shoulder. “You’re ready, right?” Vers asks. It’s not uncertainty - something closer to verification, and Natasha nods,

“I believe so, ma’am.”

Paolo comes back with the knife and the blaster, handing them to Vers. Vers passes the knife to Natasha and nods towards one of the shelves, “Ankle or thigh?”

“Ankle,” Natasha says, and then she takes the correct sheath off the shelf when Vers gives her a look, strapping it to her right ankle and tucking the ten-inch long knife into it.

Vers passes her the blaster, and Natasha holds it delicately. The one they’d used in the training centre was heavier, and didn’t have the same metallic feel. This one has more loose parts, and she keeps her fingers well clear of the palm grip, since there’s no hostiles around. “You’ve got across the back, a hip sling, or across the front – but that one’s so awkward I don’t know why we have it, no one uses it.”

“Hip sling,” Natasha tells her, and Poalo disappears – presumably to get the sling.

“Remember how to use it?”

“Of course.”

“Turn it on,” Vers tells her, and Natasha seamlessly powers on the blaster, sets it to stun, and aims at a shelf well clear of Vers and to the left. Poalo comes back right then, sees that Natasha is aiming in his general direction, shrieks, ducks, and covers his antennas.

“That’s good,” Vers tells Natasha, and adds, “Poalo, you’re fine.”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” Poalo stutters, and he drops off the holster, then retreats skittishly to the edge of a shelving unit, prepared to flee at the first indication of danger.

Vers steps up to Natasha with the holster, adjusts the straps across her hips and buckles it into a loop at the back. “Put it in?”

Natasha holsters the weapon, and it puts itself to sleep without pressure on the grip.

“Is that going to work, or do you want to try something else?”

“This is good, ma’am,” Natasha tells her, and she wonders what gadgets Vers is going to get.

Natasha spends the night going over the mission documents, frowning at a few things that don’t seem to line up. A few times Natasha sees Vers on the verge of asking what’s on her mind, but always she clamps up and battens down instead. It reminds Natasha of girls fighting against their training to question orders - and the catastrophic results that followed 

The question never comes, so Natasha doesn’t air her thoughts; the odd information sprinkled throughout the mission documents, the thin reasoning behind the objective. Time will tell, and the best course of action is to be as prepared as they can be, so Natasha memorizes details as long as Vers will let her. 

-

Onboard the ship the next morning, Vers stands in the corner and Natasha sits on the bench next to her. Korath was the first one here, and they’re still waiting on Yon-Rogg and the others. 

Vers and Natasha have only been here for two minutes, but Korath has been studiously avoiding Vers’ eye the whole time. “I like your suit,” she tells him once Natasha’s settled, and Korath sniffs, 

“Okay.” 

“I think the pink suited your personality better, but I respect your decision to change it up.” 

“I’m not interested in what you think,” Korath says stiffly, eyeing Vers cautiously. He’s a stick in the mud and doesn’t have much interest in bantering - which is what makes it so fun for Vers to poke at him. 

Vers leans back and folds her arms, “Are you interested in what Minn-Erva would like?” 

It gets his attention, even though that fact frustrates him. “Don’t you have an asset to talk to now?” 

“She doesn’t talk much,” Vers says, and it’s true - Natasha occasionally lets some personality slip out in the form of sarcasm or dry, dry humour, but typically she just ma’am’s Vers and tries to be as robot-like as possible. 

There’s a few seconds where Korath struggles with his curiosity, but he finally breaks. “What does Minn-Erva think?” 

Vers grins widely. “I haven’t talked to her,” she says, and Korath glares. “But! I do know she’s not a fan of pink. Or anything soft. Or nice. Or pleasant. Pretty positive she’d approve of your suit too.” 

Despite himself, Korath looks relieved. 

They hear footsteps and Minn-Erva comes on board, checking her sidearm and sitting next to Korath. “I’m glad to see you looking normal again,” she tells him, and Korath nods once. 

“See,” Vers interjects pointedly and Korath grumbles to himself. 

“Vers talking up a storm again?” Minn-Erva guesses, and at that point Yon-Rogg, Att-Lass and Bron-Char enter the ship, and the cargo doors close behind them. 

“If you are, stop it,” Yon-Rogg says, catching the last bit of the conversation. “Everyone needs to focus.” 

The ship’s energy engines start up and Vers puts on her game face, strapping Natasha into her seat before sitting down and strapping herself in. 

Yon-Rogg takes a seat at the head of the compartment, strapping himself in. “There’s a slight change to the plan. There may be more hostilies than we anticipated, though they appear weaker than initial intel suggested. Stealth may not be an option. Vers, engage when it feels safe and see if you’re able to incapacitate them easily. If so, we’ll watch the perimeter to ensure there’s nothing untoward wandering around and let you clear the interior of the mountain. When it’s clear, we’ll enter the base and sweep for the targets.” 

“Question,” Vers says, raising her hand. 

“Vers?” Yon-Rogg acknowledges. 

“Why are we focusing on getting technology that we know the Skrulls already know how to exploit? Shouldn’t we be looking at something that’ll give us an edge?” 

Yon-Rogg regards her - like he can’t figure out where the question comes from. “That technology may be the key to understanding how advanced the Skrulls have pushed their dirty tricks.” 

It’s an answer, but it’s not a convincing one. There’s something missing, something they haven’t been told about. Vers knows that Natasha has noticed it too - she spent most of the evening mapping out the mission while frowning at it deeply. 

The ship departs from the carrier with a lurch, and starts travelling towards the jump point. They rumble in their seats for a few minutes, and then the ship eases into a stable cruising speed. 

Vers unclips her harness, then unclips Natasha’s. “Be back in time for the jump point,” Yon-Rogg calls after them, and Vers raises her hand without turning to acknowledge him. 

Natasha follows her as she makes her way to the bottom of the ship. There’s an array of weapons systems here, and a clear shield for the weapons master to look through. 

Vers collapses into one of the seats, spinning it around so she can stare out the shield. Space usually brings her peace, but she can see Natasha standing behind her in the shield’s reflection, and the reminder of her new responsibility and their unspoken, shared unease about this mission unsettles her. 

“Sit down somewhere,” she tells Natasha, who takes the directive to heart and sits on the lip of the step right behind where Vers’ seat is embedded into the ship.

Vers swings her seat around, fixing her eyes on Natasha. The need to share her thoughts and reservations with someone is overwhelming. She used to be able to connect with Yon-Rogg, but it felt like he was drifting further and further away with the recent addition of Natasha.

They can’t have the conversation here, the one that Vers wants to have. She’s not sure if Natasha would have it with her if they were completely alone, actually. Even if Natasha did have a theory about what seemed off with this mission. Natasha looks a little taken aback with the attention at first, but then she settles into Vers’ gaze, keen and attentive.

Natasha’s face is otherwise a careful blank slate right now, and Vers knows there’s so much more to her that she refuses to show. Vers crooks two fingers at her and Natasha stands, the curiosity playing between her eyes. She comes over and kneels down at Vers’ feet, tucking her hands behind her back and gazing up. 

Vers looks down at her, restlessness making her toes propel herself back and forth gently in the swivel chair. She puts an elbow on the armrest and rests her cheek in her palm - they can’t have any conversation here, not with some many potentially able to listen in on them. Vers is aware she’s being a little uncouth in her approach in dealing with Natasha but no matter how many times she goes over their time together, it seems appropriate given the level of cooperation she’s gotten. 

Natasha leans in closer, and then her bony chin is perched on Vers’ knee, her head cocked curiously. 

Vers offers half a smile, though she’s sure the frustration is still on her face. Which she doesn’t want Natasha to think is directed at her - she sits up a little straighter, worried now, but Natasha’s smiling at her. It’s almost a smirk, though she hides most of it. 

She hides so much of herself. There’s glimpses of her, here and there, usually when she’s focusing hard - focusing too hard to be able to pull it back, probably. 

On a whim Vers takes her cheek off her hand and reaches out to put it on Natasha’s head instead. They’re both going to have to tie their hair back before they put on their helmets, but right now Natasha’s hair is soft, shining in the dim lighting of the weapons hub. Gravity takes Vers’ hand down the side of Natasha’s head as she runs her fingers through her hair, but Natasha’s the one that moves her head with the motion, until she’s pinned Vers’ hand between head and leg, still gazing up at her 

\- and then Natasha goes and does something like that, and Vers can’t figure out if it’s the sum total of a careful calculation, or if it’s really her. 

Whichever it is, their predicament stays the same. No way to talk. 

“I won’t let you fall,” Vers tells her quietly, hoping it’s soft enough that any microphones won’t pick it up. Natasha smiles for real this time, a small thing that presses her lips together and turns the corners of her mouth up. Vers leans back in her seat, sighing heavily at the ceiling; her thumb takes over the restlessness in her body, stroking the back of Natasha’s head. 

Vers doesn’t understand how they’re not supposed to get attached to assets, how they’re supposed to keep their emotions in check and keep that relationship objective. The trust still isn’t there, and yet that doesn’t change her resolve to keep Natasha safe. It doesn’t change the fact that Natasha’s only here because Vers is here. 

They’ll just have to see how this goes, all of it. The mission, Natasha, Vers herself as a master. Vers just hopes there are more moments like this, and less moments where she has to act on the less fulfilling aspects of the role. Right now, they’re just two people in a thing together, for better or worse. 

“Okay,” she says, sitting up, and Natasha’s eyes had been closed but she snaps upright at the sound of Vers’ voice. Vers brushes Natasha’s cheek as she smiles - with gratitude, maybe, or something more comfortable - and then nods over at the other console. “Go, show me all the new things you learned.” 

Natasha stands and takes a seat in the opposite weapon bay, turning herself towards the outside. 

They spend two hours staring at the stars, Natasha identifying the clusters and systems as they coast past. Vers is barely paying attention to her, but Natasha’s voice is soothing and when she looks out at the darkness she can imagine that they’re somewhere else.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/A. If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> I’m garbage at action sequences. Just pretend it makes sense? 
> 
> Thank you again for commenting and kudos'ing! It's really great to get.

After they put on the final pieces of their uniforms, they return to the passenger bay to strap in. 

“Be careful,” Yon-Rogg reminds Vers, and Vers nods. Whatever misgivings she has, it’s too late for it now. Now they simply need to focus on the mission and the objective. 

The planet is mostly mud and rock, which makes a water entry impossible. The ship drops Natasha and her off on the peak of a mountainous pile of rocks. Vers goes first and catches Natasha. It’s a 20’ foot drop and she’s happy to see that Natasha makes it without any misgivings. 

Coms are on radio silence, and they pick their way down the jumble of rocks easy enough. Vers peers over the edge of where the entrance into the structure ought to be, and sees no one guarding it. Natasha, who’s looking over the other side, shakes her head to confirm there’s no one on that side either. 

Dropping down in front of the entrance, Vers pushes the rock door open. It moves easily and she nods at Natasha, who slips through the gap that she’s made. Vers follows, pausing for a moment at the entrance so her eyes can adjust to the gloomy glow emitted from the intermittent rocks embedded in the walls. 

They move down the hallway, pausing when they hear voices. Natasha peeks around the corner and holds up three fingers - Vers nods, but holds up a staying hand. Three isn’t too bad, but if there’s an option, she’d rather test her strength against one instead of three. They wait in silence, and the voices move off and fade away after a minute. 

Natasha moves into the hallway once it’s clear, and Vers follows behind her. 

They come to a large room with three doors on the far side. There’s three levels in the room, connected with stairs, and they’re on the top one. Natasha sticks to the wall by the entrance, and Vers is about to take a step in when she hears a disgusted voice behind her: 

“Kree. We knew you would come.” 

Natasha drops down and shoots her blaster around Vers. There’s an abrupt scream, but another one has appeared from behind Natasha, and Vers takes a running jump, kicking the two-body being who goes flying off the ledge of the top level. 

Vers activates the coms as Natasha peers through the door to see if there’s anyone else coming: “They knew we were coming.” 

“How many?” Yon-Rogg asks, static interfering with his voice. “We’re getting life signals around the compound.” 

“Two so far,” Vers tells him, “We’re going to try to go deeper.” 

“Be careful,” Yon-Rogg tells them, and Natasha tags up behind Vers, her blaster at the ready. 

They make their way across the room; Natasha shoots two of the Baskin and Vers punches out three of them. 

They take the door on the right, sticking close to the wall until they go down a set of stairs. 

The next set of stairs are located across a large empty space. They need to cross it in order to get to the stairs, but it’ll leave them exposed. Natasha goes first off of Vers’ nod, and Vers blasts two snipers she notices on the ledges with her photon energy. They switch off covering each other as they move on to the third level; five Baskin here, and then onto the fourth level. 

Natasha knows exactly where she’s going, and what she’s doing. She wordlessly follows Vers’ directives and moves seamlessly with her. No wonder Dalton died, Vers finds herself thinking, ducking as Natasha shoots over her head while she blasts a Baskin that’s behind Natasha - the asset had no chance with Att-Lass. 

The fifth level is mostly clear, but there’s a wanna-be ambush on the sixth. Seven of the Baskin converge, and Vers shoves Natasha behind a set of stairs where she can provide cover fire while Vers makes quick work out of the set of them. 

The seventh level is a large room with a hub of tech in the middle of it, and at least fifteen Baskin. They see Vers and Natasha as soon as they enter, and Vers sighs. “I think we’ve officially lost the element of surprise,” she tells Natasha, and she sees the ghost of that smirk again. 

Vers is still working on three of the stronger ones when she sees that Natasha has left her, and is instead standing in front of the column that houses most of the tech. By the time Vers has finished incapacitating the Baskin, Natasha’s managed to use the tech to open some sort of stone container to the right of them. 

“How’d you do that?” Vers asks, and Natasha starts to move towards the box cautiously, 

“A hunch.” 

Vers doesn’t share the same caution, so she gets there first. Inside, suspended in a glowing sphere, is an innocuous looking rock. 

“It’s the stone,” she tells Natasha, and she activates her coms to let the rest of the crew know, but all she gets is static. “Are we down too deep?” she wonders outloud, and Natasha shakes her head, 

“Kree technology shouldn’t be affected by the composition of this structure. I think someone - something - is jamming it.” 

But what has the power to do that? 

Vers can tell Natasha’s wondering the same thing. “Let’s go,” Vers tells her, and Natasha nods, but instead of going back the way they came, Natasha slips through the doorway next to them, disappearing around a corner. 

It’s the first time Natasha’s done something unexpected, and Vers stares after her. “Nat,” she hisses quietly, but Natasha doesn’t come back and Vers, bewildered, is forced to go after her. “Natasha!” she whisper-yells.

This hallway is smaller than the others had been. There’s a chunk of it missing a few steps down, and Vers heads towards it. Some kind of secret door? When she looks through it, she sees Natasha’s crouched down some ways away, waiting for her. 

“What are you doing?” Vers asks, keeping her voice quiet. She goes through the entryway to the secret tunnel, ducking slightly so her head clears the top of it. 

“Reading between the lines,” Natasha says, and she turns before Vers can get to her, and continues down the tunnel. 

Vers hadn’t been expecting Natasha to take initiative like this, nor be assertive enough to explore on her own. It was intriguing to say the least. Curious, Vers follows her. 

It doesn’t take long for the tunnel to end, and Natasha slips onto her stomach when they reach the mouth of it. Vers copies her, pulling herself up next to Natasha on her elbows. “What is it?” 

Below them is a wide circular space, at least twenty Baskin moving around uneasily. They seem to be surrounding a five-foot wide shimmering purple-hued sphere. 

Natasha looks at her, and Vers can see the moment she makes her decision. “You’re not going to let me fall, right?” she asks, and Vers doesn't know what that has to do with anything, but Natasha doesn’t wait for an answer. 

Vers can see her shifting her body weight, and she has enough time to say, “Nat!” and reach out, but Natasha’s flipping out of the tunnel before Vers can grab her, landing in the middle of a cluster of Baskin, rolling forward once to absorb the impact from the landing. 

Every Baskin in the area stops, turns, and stares at Natasha. 

“Don’t worry, company’s coming,” Natasha tells them, and then ducks an energy blast as the Baskin jump into action. 

Vers swears and jumps down after her. It’s a relatively easy fight, but there's a lot of them, and once the ones with the blasters are subdued, Natasha ducks out of the fighting and focuses on the shimmering sphere. 

“You’re not going to help?” Vers asks at one point when she’s a few feet away from Natasha, subduing the Baskin’s that had been charging at Natasha with a choke hold, and kicking at the ones that are trying to grapple her.

Natasha doesn’t even look at her when she says dryly, “Seems like you got it under control.” 

It’s a level of confidence that Vers hadn’t been expecting, but it makes her grin. It’s true, she does have it under control, and Natasha seems to know what she’s doing with the alien tech. Vers can see how it’s more efficient, this way.

When the last Baskin falls to the ground, Vers heads to Natasha. 

“So what are you doing?” she asks, wiping slime off her face. She stands behind Natasha, putting a hand on the console and leaning into Natasha’s back to look over her shoulder. Vers can smell a vague whiff of bug guts, and she’s pretty sure that it’s her. 

“Trying to find a code word that’ll decrypt the stone,” Natasha tells her. 

“You can do that?” Vers asks, surprised. 

“The readings suggested the cipher keys are always located in the memory files of the deceased. I don’t know how accurate Kree data would be,” 

“Accurate,” Vers insists automatically - it’s one of the things the Kree are best at.

“-but if it is, it should be somewhere here…” 

“That looks like a lot of information,” Vers points out, “We shouldn’t stick around for much longer. The rest of them will come looking for us soon.” 

“I know,” Natasha says calmly. “Baskin favor memories of honour and diligence. Mating rituals, births, victories, etc..” 

“Hold on,” Vers says, and Natasha sees that she’s spotted another Baskin near the wall in the corner. Vers blasts at it but it manages to dodge, so Vers grabs the blaster from Natasha’s hip holster and runs towards it. The Bakin ducks and uses a stone partition as cover - Vers shoots it, then jumps over the partition to land on it. There’s the sound of a shot, and Natasha can’t see what happens, but when Vers emerges, the Baskin doesn’t follow. 

Natasha focuses on shifting through the memories in the sphere, knowing she’s getting close - but she can tell that Vers is getting impatient too. “Natasha, we have to go,” Vers says after a minute. 

“Relax,” Natasha says easily - Vers has been receptive to her shift in demeanour, so she milks it while she can. It’s a persona she’s pulled from her espionage days, easy-going and dispassionate, talented at nudging a situation without seeming overly manipulative. 

Vers doesn’t continue to insist that they leave, so she sticks her whole arm into the foggy memories. Concentrating, she moves her hand around a little bit before finally grabbing a wisp of something that... feels right. “Got it. Give me the stone?” she asks, and Vers frowns at her with doubt, but she hands it over. 

Natasha brings the stone and the wisp together experimentally - the room shakes, seemingly in response, and from behind them, there’s a monstrous screeching sound as a doorway opens from the rock. The wisp disappears and Natasha puts the stone in her pocket as they both turn towards the doorway. 

“We can get the cube,” Natasha realizes. That had been the bonus objective, and she has a feeling that it’ll be enough to motivate Vers into continuing on. But Vers hasn’t made the logical leaps as quickly as she has, so she explains, “In order for us to get the cube, we’ll need to get past whatever’s through there. I probably won’t be much use other than bait, so you’re going to have to save me.”

“I don’t want you to be bait,” Vers says, but Natasha’s already moving towards the room and Vers follows her quickly. “Wait, Natasha,” she says but Natasha’s through the door, and she jumps into the small hole in the ground just beyond the doorway, hoping Vers will follow her. 

It’s a slippery tunnel that goes nearly straight down, curving a few times to decrease speed before ejecting into an enormous, cone shaped room. 

Natasha falls through the air until her feet finally reach thick, spongey mud. The mud absorbs most of the impact of the fall, though she can feel her spine crack a little. There’s at least three feet of the thick substance. Natasha’s just relieved that she reached the bottom before the top of the mud reached her head. 

Once her feet are under her, she gets a second to look around a cavern that looks larger than anything she’s seen before. 

Noises of Vers travelling through the tunnel echo down it, and there’s a slight grunt as Vers catches herself in the edge of the tunnel mouth. Natasha looks up and sees Vers holding herself at the exit of the tunnel with her limbs splayed outward. It looks a little awkward. 

“Natasha,” Vers grinds, and Natasha wonders if maybe she’s pushed too far this time, but it’s too late now. The opposite wall shifts and Natasha realizes: there’s a thing just like she predicted, but it isn’t on the wall, it’s the wall itself. “What is that?” Vers asks from above, and Natasha hopes that Vers is as strong as Yon-Rogg thinks she is. 

It all clicks into place for Natasha. 

The mission hadn’t been the rock or the cube, it had been this. The Cataclysm. The rock and the cube had just been convenient excuses to get Vers to this place. It hadn’t been the stealth that Yon-Rogg wanted on the ground - it had been Vers’ power. So she could kill the Cataclysm, which, from the looks of it, was as massive as the Kremlin. 

“That’s the thing you need to save me from,” Natasha says. In any case, “I’m stuck.” 

The wall shifts again, and just like that, the coms are back on. It makes sense, given that the Cataclysm is distracted now, and has shifted focus from jamming communications to fighting. It was too late to keep up evasive maneuvers. 

Yon-Rogg’s voice comes first: “Vers- come in Vers, do you copy?” 

“I’m here.”

“We’re picking up seismic shifts - pull out before you get into trouble, we’re going to send in the Accusers.” 

“Little too late for that,” Vers tells him, looking down at Natasha, and Natasha doesn’t think it’s protocol to defy a commander because an asset got itself into trouble. “We found a secret tunnel and now we seem to be facing off with some kind of huge-”

“The Cataclysm,” Natasha offers, and she’s supposed to stay off the coms but they’ve far passed the ‘supposed to’ part of the mission. 

“You found it,” Yon-Rogg confirms, as though he doesn’t believe them. 

The wall moves towards Natasha, and instead of shifting its mass, it seems to simply take up more space. It’s slow, but Natasha has no doubt it could crush her. 

“Do you want me to try to destroy it? Or just take Natasha and go?” Vers asks, torn between the two options. Natasha tries to unstick her boot from the mud, but it doesn’t budge. She’s well and truly stuck. 

“Do you think you can destroy it?” Yon-Rogg asks after a pause. Vers doesn’t answer right away, and Natasha looks at the moving wall, looks at Vers, and sees that the photonic energy that has started jumping off Vers like an electrical field. 

Natasha answers for her again, “She can do it.”

It’s telling that Yon-Rogg doesn’t react to Natasha’s affirmation on the comms, and just says, “Then you need to destroy it.” 

Destroying a giant, conceived-with-the-planet-entity is harder said than done. Natasha watches as Vers tries to punch it. The Cataclysm doesn’t budge. Vers gets some traction out of slamming into it feet first, propelling herself forward with energy blasts. The blow-back has Natasha falling into the mud, and she realizes that she can’t do much at this point other than not drown. 

The raw power that Vers has is overwhelming. Every hit pushes the Cataclysm back a foot, and Natasha wonders if its method of attack is smothering whatever enemy it has. It doesn’t seem to have any other defenses, and while Vers is making progress, she doesn’t seem to be damaging it much. 

The further back Vers drives the being, the thinner the mud gets. “Vers!” Natasha shouts when the mud is finally at a level where she can stand and move around, and Vers lands next to her, falling to one knee from exertion. 

“This is hard,” Vers tells her, breathing hard, but Natasha has a plan that might help. She takes off all the grenades that are on Vers’ belt. Vers lets her, but she looks confused. 

“I’m going to set these,” Natasha says, and Vers frowns at her,

“That’s enough firepower to blow up half this planet.” 

“Or the life force of the planet,” Natasha says, and they look up at the faceless mass that’s started to creep back towards them, the mud inching up their already drenched bodies. “But hopefully not take us with it.” 

Vers looks over at Natasha, and she looks about ready to pass out, but she stands and fires up her arms, grinning. “Okay, let’s do that. I’ll cover you while you set them. Tell me when you’re ready.” 

Natasha counts the seconds that pass while she sets the grenades, and it seems to take much longer than she knows is true. One minute, two, three, four - the mud slows her to an undignified crawl, but Vers keeps the Cataclysm at bay. 

Finally, eight minutes and thirteen seconds later, she’s in the furthest corner away from the Cataclysm and she yells, “Now!” Vers changes angles and bashes the Cataclysm towards the array of explosives. 

The subsequent explosion when the Cataclysm finally detonates the bomb causes pieces of the cavern they’re in to come reigning down on them. The tremor of the ground knocks Natasha onto her ass, and Vers is standing over her before she can blink, punching at a boulder that plummets straight down at them from the ceiling. 

Vers protects Natasha as best she can, and Natasha hates that all she can do is sit there, trying to protect her head. When the shaking and rumbling have finally stopped (a deep thrumming remains, but that sounds like it’s coming from much deeper in the ground), Vers can barely stand on her own two feet. 

Her arms are battered and bleeding from redirecting falling rocks and stones from them, and her legs are visibly trembling. She collapses backwards, next to Natasha, and bonelessly sinks into the thinned mud. 

“We need to go,” Natasha tells her, taking her hand, but Vers doesn’t look like she can hear her: her head is sinking back, mud flooding into her helmet and sinking into her ears.

Natasha knows Vers is tired, probably too physically exerted to be able to move much. 

But they need to get out of here. Natasha takes her hand and pulls, hauling her up and pulling her arm over her shoulder. Holding onto Vers’ arm as tightly as she can, and trying to carry as much of Vers’ weight as she can against her shoulder, Natasha starts dragging them towards the exit. 

“They’ll come get us,” Vers mutters, her eyes half-closed, and Natasha isn’t willing to leave their survival to a group that had so easily decided to kill what would be considered a demi-god on Earth. It was a callousness that didn’t surprise her - and hadn’t she even encouraged it? - but it did put her on guard. 

Finally, she manages to drag Vers out of the muddy cavern. They’d only fallen half a dozen times, though they were so completely drenched in mud that Natasha was sure it was making every step feel that much heavier. 

Out under the orange sky, Natasha lets Vers sit against a boulder while they wait for the ship to come around. Every time Vers closes her eyes, Natasha nudges her awake. Each time, it takes more and more effort for Vers to keep her eyes open. 

Eventually the ship comes and lands next to them, the engines shifting to stand-by and the cargo door opening. The rest of the crew comes out, and all but Yon-Rogg head into the cave to survey (or confirm) the damage. 

Yon-Rogg looks down at Vers, and Vers salutes him sloppily. “We did it,” she mumbles, her words slurring together. 

“Excellent,” Yon-Rogg tells her with a smile. “Where’s the stone?” 

Natasha pulls it out of her pocket. She avoids Yon-Rogg’s sharp look, and drops the stone into his hand when he thrusts it out. 

“You did good Vers,” Yon-Rogg nods, “You’ll be able to rest soon. Get her on the ship,” he says to Natasha. 

Natasha leans down and picks Vers up by the arm again. Together they stagger onto the ship, Yon-Rogg leading the way. As soon as they’re inside, Vers disengages from Natasha in favour of collapsing against a wall, sending out a spray of mud. 

“I’m fine,” she tells them with her eyes closed, slumping awkwardly to the side. “I’m just going to stay here for a while.” 

Yon-Rogg keeps walking and Natasha makes to follow him so she can get them some clean clothes - but then he stops so suddenly Natasha nearly doesn’t catch herself in time. When she looks at his face she sees suspicion and distrust, and a darker emotion that runs so deep she’s not sure how it can be hatred.

“You,” he says, and while he sounds pleasantly surprised, she can hear the malice underneath, “Were adequate.” Natasha supposes it’s high praise coming from his mouth. “I expect you to clean up this mess before we get back. And make sure you get our boots.”

He turns again before she can acknowledge the order, and Vers is too tired to protest the extension of authority. Natasha accepts the slight – it had been a well-played and well-timed. 

Shortly after, the three other Kree stomp into the ship, splattering mud everywhere - they leave their boots near the deck doors. It looked like they had managed to avoid the full-body mud bath Natasha and Vers had gotten. They’ve left a mess in their wake, and Natasha knows they’re too conscientious to have done so unintentionally.

Likely Yon-Rogg was going to be watching her on some closed circuit, to judge how well she follows his order. 

Natasha pulls off her helmet, a glob of mud dripping out of it, and takes off her suit, grateful that the mud hadn’t been thin enough to seep through the suit’s material. 

Mostly naked, she kneels next to Vers, who’s now almost fully horizontal on the floor. 

“‘m fine,” Vers mumbles when she feels Natasha removing her helmet. Mud drips out of the crevices in the helmet and onto the ground. Natasha takes the helmets to the far end of the cargo bay to clean later, and comes back to unzip Vers. Vers protests again, but Natasha puts a dirty finger on Vers’ dirty lip. 

“Hush,” she tells Vers quietly, and Vers yawns, but the request seems to land. Without Vers actively resisting, Natasha’s able to pull the suit off with minimal trouble. Getting Vers onto the bench is a harder task though, especially since Vers seems insistent that she’s fine on the ground, lying in a pool of slowly drying mud. 

It takes some strong-arming to move Vers, but when Natasha approaches her with a moist towel, she seems to finally embrace Natasha’s attention. “Hurry up, Nat,” she tells her at one point, pliable now, likely with the hope that cooperating will mean being able to rest, sooner. 

But this is about the show, and Natasha knows she can get away with ignoring that order. Vers will still need a shower when they get back onto the carrier, but Natasha takes care to wipe off every last fleck. Finally clean, Natasha brings Vers a cargo sheet and a blanket. 

Vers opens her eyes when Natasha pushes at her - and closes them again when she realizes that Natasha has made a pillow at one end of the bench, and has a blanket in the other hand. “Oh, good,” she mumbles, and she falls asleep as Natasha drapes the blanket over her. 

Given how long it took to travel here, she’s got about three hours to clean the rest of the cargo bay up. She gets to work despite her own desire to lie down on the ground next to Vers and join her in unconsciousness. 

Natasha takes a moment to wipe herself down quickly from only the worst of the mud. Then she cleans the weapons, stacking them neatly into the racks along the walls. The floor she cleans as best she can without using the hose - the ship will get washed out when they land anyway, and by that point, Vers will likely be alert enough to whisk them both away. 

Halfway through cleaning the boots, Yon-Rogg comes through the deck doors. Natasha hadn’t been expecting him, but his presence isn’t a surprise. With Vers out of commission, now is the best time to impress his superiority onto her. 

After surveying the area, he comes to stand next to her. Natasha doesn’t look up at him but she can feel his scrutiny. “Why are you undressed?” 

Deferentially, she answers, “I’m cleaning everything first so I don’t get more things dirty, sir,” and she moves from her seated position onto her knees. It’s clear to her that he’s here to antagonize, and she’s cautiously curious to see what he has in mind. 

The answer seems acceptable to him, and he shifts his weight, his foot moving towards her half an inch. “It seems to me you’re destined to miss a set of boots.” 

And there it is - there’s barely any mud on the bottom of the boots he’s wearing, likely because he encountered some water or something, but the tops of his toes and above have a thin layer of dull mud. 

Natasha recognizes the power play for what it is, and she has a sense that Yon-Rogg is aware of her understanding too. What she does, that she normally wouldn’t have done, is look at Vers. 

“You better not wake her up,” Yon-Rogg says softly, the threat in his voice, “She needs her rest.” 

Natasha nods, knowing she’s trapped. Yon-Rogg is manipulative and clever, and his timing is impeccable. Natasha falls back on her oldest defense, fighting with submission. “May I clean your boots, sir?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he tells her with false sympathy. “Do you think I should let you?” 

“If it pleases you,” Natasha says. It’s a stock answer, but this is what she’s used to, being toyed with and played. 

“Put your hand on the floor,” he tells her, and Natasha puts the hand that’s not holding the towel on the floor. She keeps her fingers together to keep them safer, and wonders if he’ll notice. 

Apparently he’s not that well practised, because he lets her keep them that way as he steps on her hand and puts his full weight on it. Natasha inhales deeply; it feels like he’s crushing her hand completely, though she knows the sensation will lessen as her body becomes acclimated to the pain.

“May I clean your boots, sir?” she asks again, careful not to let her voice fluctuate as the sharpness of the pain turns into a deep throbbing. 

“Go ahead,” he says, and Natasha’s grateful that the towel she has with her is mostly clean, and still wet. With careful movements she wipes his boot clean, unable to keep the tension at bay when he rolls his foot this way or that under the guise of giving her better access. When he digs his heel into the first two digits of her fingers she thinks she might make a noise then, but she blinks through the stinging in her eyes. 

This is something she knows she can do, and something she can even find a modicum of comfort in. The pleasure he clearly derives from causing her pain and humiliating her is familiar, and while Vers hasn’t come close to instigating a situation like this, it was still relatively fresh in her recent history. 

Enduring was easy, just tedious. 

When his boot is clean, she sits back as much as she can with her hand still pinned and going numb under his foot. 

“You think that’s clean enough?” he asks, and Natasha nods - it’s not, but it’s the cleanest it’s going to get under these circumstances, and they both know that. “Prove it,” he tells her, and it’s so cliche that she nearly lets the appropriately revenant facade fall from her face. Nonetheless, Natasha leans down and licks a strip from the toe of the boot to the top of it, then sits back. 

What she’s curious to see is if he makes her change hands for the next boot, or if he’s going to continue torturing this hand. 

Yon-Rogg finally steps off her hand, though he rolls his foot from the toe to the heel, digging in and twisting his heel slightly before pulling it off. 

“Now your other hand,” he says, and Natasha peels the hand he had been standing on off the ground. It shakes as the blood flows back into it, the imprint of the bottom of his boot lingering. Her nerves come to life with a sharp, stinging pain. It helps that the majority of the force had been spread out across her hand, and she takes care to place her other hand down the same way. 

He steps on her hand slowly, but she lost the instinct to shy away in the face of pain a long, long time ago. Once he’s on it, it again becomes an anchor, and she picks up the towel with her shaking hand, finding it challenging to get her fingers to cooperate for the first few minutes. 

They’re burned up with angry heat, and she does her best to work quickly but she can’t push as hard or be as precise. With the conflicting pain signals coming in, his attempts to heighten her pain and vary the pressure aren’t as effective as they had been the first time. 

Control of her hand comes back to her in time, though the pulsating pain doesn’t dissipate. 

When she finishes, she licks his boot, a single, long strip from toe to top - the difference between the two is noticeable, and this one has a layer of grime that she hadn’t quite been able to penetrate. It’s his own fault though, for not letting her get a fresh towel, and she’s only marginally surprised when he doesn’t demand she lick his whole boot clean, and instead steps off her hand. 

He turns and leaves her without acknowledgement, and Natasha peels her hand off the ground, holding it gently and rubbing at it to help get some blood back. This one had actually gone numb, and she allows herself a moment to sit as she rides out the stings of pain that accompany the return of feeling. Vers is still sleeping peacefully on the bench, completely unaware. Good, Natasha thinks, and she’s surprised in the same thought - it’s the thought of Vers witnessing something that would likely make her uncomfortable that Natasha’s glad to have avoided. 

The prints on the first hand have faded by the time her second hand is mostly functional. Natasha finishes the rest of the boots at a slower pace, relishing the sensation of the cold water on her aching hands when she goes to resoak the towels. 

When she finishes, she lines the boots up and finally takes the time to wipe any lingering grime and mud off herself. There’s a long-sleeve shirt in the hold that’s long enough to be a knee-high dress on her, so she puts that on, holding off on going into the crew quarters. Vers likely has spare clothes there, but Natasha’s content to stay next to Vers for now, sitting on the floor at Vers’ feet and leaning back against the wall. 

Yon-Rogg wouldn’t have dared to do that in front of a conscious Vers, and Natasha wonders if part of the reason is because he’s trying to maintain a benevolent facade. His voice had changed when he commanded the Cataclysm dead, and while it wasn’t Natasha’s nature to argue with orders, there did feel something wrong with making Vers do it, when she could barely stomach physically disciplining Natasha even when she was egged into it. 

It was curious. The reaffirmation that masters were still supposed to be exactly as Natasha had experienced them only made her feel more loyal to Vers. If anything she should feel clever by pulling one over on Vers, but she just felt more protective. 

It’s obvious now why Vers is catered to - she’s powerful, probably more powerful than any other Kree, given how much they bend to keep her happy. But why give Natasha to her? 

There was something strange going on, between Vers and the rest of the Kree, especially Yon-Rogg. Natasha was resolved to get to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of recent events, I wanted to use this platform to say that I am an ally. I strive to be a co-conspirator, and to practise anti-racism in my daily life. Black Lives Matter. Know that I hear you and I care about you. I am not a BIPOC, and live an incredibly privileged life in many regards. I am doing my best to support by donating, engaging with family and friends, and offering resources to my peers. I encourage everyone to choose kindness, to make an effort to self-reflect, to help however you can, and to do it all with empathy, and most importantly, with love. For everyone. Including yourself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Physical Abuse.   
> If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> Thank you again for reading, for commenting, and for enjoying this fic! I'm going to try to continue regularly updating it, but I am going back to work and this was definitely born as a quarantine project. I do promise to let everyone know in the unlikely case it gets shelved.

There are more missions, though not as dramatic or eventful as the first. Vers takes to letting Natasha take the lead on the espionage side of their tasks, acting as a bouncer while Natasha sneaks and alien hacks and deduces and, occasionally, misleads any number of species she’s stopped being surprised at seeing. 

The more time she spends with Vers, the clearer it becomes that the Kree Warrior Hero just wants a peer who knows when it’s time to relax, or make a joke, or to be professional. And to that end, Vers asks more of her than Natasha can remember anyone asking. 

Assets were not supposed to have opinions or feelings, but Natasha cycles through her persona’s to find characters that make Vers smile when she’s tense; that are able to make Vers relax when she’s antsy, calm when she’s irritated, laugh when she looks over at Natasha eagerly with humour or excitement. Respectful, always, but engaged in a way that has only been demanded of her for a mark. 

At some point, the characters begin to lose their definition and Natasha finds herself pulling on inspiration that doesn’t stem from a preconstructed set of carefully calculated traits and personality. It’s almost like a persona, just one that hasn’t been created yet. One that seems even more effortless than the others, and one she fears might actually be a ghost of true herself. 

Natasha hadn’t been the only one on the spaceship that brought her here. She’d heard the Kree killing some of the others, heard the opening of the airlock and the chill in the air that followed after it was pressurized.

Being sold had felt like a betrayal, but she was smart enough to see that even as lenient as Vers was, obedience was still expected, and likely the only way to stay alive. 

Ever since a young age, obedience had been required of her and so she gave it. Now she wondered what the difference was between trying to please Vers, which she did willingly and with pleasure, and obeying. Had there been that difference when she was younger, like there was now? Or had it always been a sense of obligation and purpose, the gift and curse survival had bestowed upon her. The price of her life had been her living, and she had made peace with that. But now… 

Vers takes her down to the hull again, and as they lie on their stomachs and watch solar systems drift by, Natasha sees a wonder in Vers that no Kree onboard shares. She sees the sympathetic winces when they walk past an asset or some subordinate being disciplined in the hallways. She hears the reluctance that often accompanies uncomfortable directives that Vers doesn’t yet realize she’s reluctant to follow through on. 

Natasha is careful to toe the line around Yon-Rogg; but it’s not out of fear that she won’t be able to take another display like there had been on that first mission, but because she doesn’t think that Vers will be able to handle it. 

Natasha is meant to serve her masters, not actually care about them like this. 

It’s been almost four Earth months when they’re assigned to the watch on a mission that’s slated to go on for at least five cycles. There are four other members on the watch, and one other asset besides Natasha. 

The other asset has not been as lucky in the Kree master department as Natasha has been. It’s a Kree named Con-Dorr that’s not typically deployed with them, a hulk of a male who wears his blue skin proudly. His asset is also male, and vaguely human-like, though his skin looks like rock and his hair looks like sand that’s been glued into strands. 

They’re protecting whatever is in the lowest level of the semi-cave like structure, and using the top-most level to keep an eye out in all directions. The watch splits a cycle - 24 hours - into three equal parts, with Att-Lass and Korath partnered together. 

The first watch is taken by Vers and Natasha. They eat and take turns dozing, and Vers practises shooting rocks from between Natasha’s fingers with her powers while Natasha keeps an eye out. It’s boring, but manageable. 

Att-Lass and Korath relieve them, and they’re eating in the main room of the structure when Con-Dorr comes through from the section of the structure where they sleep. His asset, who Natasha has learned is named Lo, follows him meekly. 

When Con-Dorr’s eyes land on Natasha, they light up with indignation, and Natasha knows he’s going to be a problem for them. She looks at Vers, hoping to convey the need for composure. Vers hasn’t caught on yet, and she’s looking at Natasha curiously when Con-Dorr blusters up to the table.

“Why is she sitting here?” he demands, and Natasha can see Vers tensing and hopes that she won’t blow this out of proportion. 

Vers doesn’t look at him, dismissive, “If you don’t like it, you can sit on the floor.” 

“The floor is for the assets,” Con-Dorr explains, and he kicks at Lo, who winces but otherwise doesn’t react. “Go on,” he tells Natasha, “Get where you belong.” 

Natasha doesn’t react. It’s not Vers’ will that she sit on the floor - if it was, she would already be there. “Don’t talk to my asset,” Vers tells him, standing, and Natasha begins looking for a way to diffuse the situation - her eyes land on Lo, who shakes his head subtly. 

“I outrank you,” Con-Dorr reminds Vers, and Vers’ fists are closed, and they have started to smoke lightly with energy.

“That would matter if I cared.” 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Con-Dorr says, but Natasha knows that Vers would definitely dare, will now dare just to spite him. And she knows she shouldn’t get involved, that it’s not her place, but she knows that it will be dangerous for them to let this play out. And they have four more days here; instigating a fight now is unwise. 

“Sir,” Natasha says, and Con-Dorr looks livid that a lowly asset would dare speak with him. “This has been deemed a table for assets. The table across the room is for Kree. But if you’d rather we move…” 

Con-Dorr’s lip curls, but the lie seems to placate him. Vers doesn’t refute it, and he grunts dismissively. “Disgusting,” he mutters, but he leaves them be and Lo follows after him, curling against the wall on that side of the room. 

“Bullshit,” Vers mutters darkly as she sits down, and Natasha feels the sting of her disappointment, and finds herself hopelessly frustrated by it. What did Vers want her to do? Follow her will only when it led to conflict? 

Natasha stays quiet and finishes her meal, clearing their trays and following Vers to their room. 

There’s a single couch instead of a real bed in the small room, but it’s private. They have a duffel of clothes, and their weapons in a corner, but otherwise it’s bare. Vers is lying on the couch, and Natasha stays standing after she closes the door, wondering if Vers is upset enough by her defiance to punish her. A cold shoulder is typically the extent of what Vers can manage, and even that doesn’t last more than a few hours. 

“Stop that,” Vers finally huffs, and Natasha drops to her knees smoothly, 

“I disappointed you.” 

Vers turns on the couch, glaring at her. “You think?” 

“I was avoiding confrontation,” Natasha explains evenly, “We have another four cycles with them.” 

“So you lie to him about the tables instead.” 

“It’s true now, isn’t it?” she asks, and the cheek of it isn’t caught by the filter in her head and when she says it it's too late. Natasha presses her teeth together - she’s supposed to be apologizing, not antagonizing. “I’m sorry ma’am,” Natasha says and the surprise on Vers’ face changes to one of distaste. 

“No, it’s fine. You’re right,” Vers relents, and she turns to her back, staring up at the rocky ceiling. “Starting a fight is probably a bad idea, even if I can totally kick his ass.” 

It’s a level of understanding that Natasha hadn’t been expecting, and she feels the need to point out, “He’s going to try to establish his authority again.” 

“Then I’ll punch him,” Vers says shortly, and it’s so obviously reactive that even she sighs afterwards. “I’m not going to treat you any differently just because of some asshole.” 

The loyalty of statements like that still seems counterintuitive to Natasha, but she tries to offer solutions instead of dwelling on it: “Then we can avoid him. Or you can leave me in here.” 

“You’re here to help me,” Vers protests. “But we can try avoiding him.” 

The scream happens a second later, and Vers sits straight up on the couch, swinging her feet around to the floor. “What was that?”

“Lo,” Natasha answers, and she’s prepared to intercept Vers, if she tries to intervene. And it had felt like they’d been making progress too. “You can’t,” she reminds Vers. 

“The hell I can’t,” Vers says, and she stands - Natasha stand too, stepping in front of her, 

“You’ll make it worse, ma’am.” 

“Lo didn’t do anything wrong,” she insists, and Natasha shakes her head, 

“You don’t know that. It’s probably true,” she agrees to appease Vers, “But that’s between Con-Dorr and Lo. Please trust me, getting between them is only going to make it worse for Lo.” 

Throwing out trust had been an underhanded play, but the resolve fades from Vers’ face while the turmoil remains. “So we just sit here and listen to it?” 

“Yes,” Natasha says empathetically, and she takes her hands off Vers. “It won’t go on for long. We sit here and ignore it, and then avoid him.” 

“I hate this plan,” Vers grumbles, but she manages to follow through on it. Natasha wonders how long Vers will be able to hold out before she’s spurred into action. 

The answer is three cycles. They manage to mostly avoid Con-Dorr, though the pink bruise on Lo’s eye the next time they see him has Natasha genuinely worried that Vers was going to lose it. They get through two more tense watches, but when they swap on the fourth cycle, they come down to see Lo strapped to the asset table, his hands and feet pulled to the edges of the table, his body bared as Con-Dorr strikes him with a heavy baton. 

Natasha’s coming down the stairs first, so she sees it first, and she turns around to attempt to block Vers’ way. “Don’t,” Natasha tries to caution, but Vers has already seen over her shoulder. The baton comes down on Lo’s chest and Lo yells in pain; Natasha tries to grab Vers, but Vers pulls away easily, sidestepping Natasha and ignoring the warning. 

The following blast sends Con-Dorr clear through the wall, and Lo looks over at them in a blind panic. 

Vers starts untying Lo, quivering with anger. She doesn’t notice Lo shaking his head, and she muscles onward despite Natasha’s arm on her, trying to pull at her and salvage any part of this situation she can. 

Lo is untied but he refuses to move off the table, and Vers is trying to pull him off when Con-Dorr walks through the hole in the wall, his eyebrows slightly singed. Natasha gives up then, slipping towards the wall where she’ll be less conspicuous. 

Con-Dorr has a twisted smile on his face. “That was a mistake,” he says, and Vers has finally managed to get Lo onto his feet. 

“You were torturing him.” Even as she says it, Lo fights against hers, trying to get back onto the table, seemingly contradicting the statement. 

Con-Dorr walks over and takes Lo’s arm, and Vers releases Lo, likely for fear of starting a tug-of-war that would hurt him. “What I do with my asset isn’t your business - go pack your things.” 

The order catches Vers off guard, and she looks baffled. “You can’t throw me off this mission,” Vers tells him, but Natasha’s pretty sure that Con-Dorr can. 

“I’m the commanding officer,” he tells her harshly, “A post given to me by the Supreme Intelligence. Are you defying the Supreme Intelligence’s will?” 

“Of course not,” Vers tells him, and Natasha doesn’t see how she can’t see the correlation between the two. 

“Get your things,” he says, “And leave. A ship will pick you up.” 

Vers looks at Lo and opens her mouth, but Lo shakes his head, fearfully. With cold fury Vers leaves and Natasha waits until Con-Dorr’s back is turned before she follows, lest he realize there’s an even better way of getting to Vers. 

Vers is sitting on the couch looking at her hands when Natasha comes in. “Vers,” she says quietly and Vers is so angry she doesn’t look at Natasha.

“Con-Dorr was torturing him,” she repeats and Natasha kneels down next to her, covering her shaking hands with her own, 

“Maybe,” she says gently, “But that’s what we’re there for, if that’s what we need to do.” 

“It’s barbaric,” Vers tells her and Natasha doesn’t see how Vers can be so blind to all of this. For someone who was so opposed to the system on a guttural level, she still failed to see how complicit she was in it. 

Natasha puts her forehead on Vers’ hands. It’s not a relevant conversation right now. “Are you willing to disobey the Supreme Intelligence?” she asks, because that’s what’s going to shift the tide of the conversation. 

“No,” Vers tells her shortly, and Natasha’s been trained to submit and serve from a young age, but this is something different. This is a loyalty that Natasha can’t see an obvious source for. 

“I’ll get your things,” she says, standing up. She half expects Vers to fight her on it, or tear back downstairs to fight Con-Dorr, but somehow the Supreme Intelligence has a vice grip on Vers constitution. Vers swallows her conviction and lets Natasha put the few things they have into a bag. 

They leave through the back by Natasha’s request - if she was Con-Dorr, she’d have strung Lo up even worse than before just to rub it in Vers’ face. 

The shuttle that comes barely has room for the both of them, but they return to a transport ship that happens to be in the vicinity. Natasha’s grateful that they’re relatively close to the carrier ship, and Vers only spends an hour stewing next to Natasha on the bench, in a cargo hold full of ship parts. 

The pilot doesn’t ask questions, but Yon-Rogg is at the docking bay when they land, and he looks pissed. 

Vers doesn’t even offer to explain herself, just sends Natasha away to their quarters and then waits for Yon-Rogg to give her a directive. Yon-Rogg looks at her with disbelief and disappointment, and he shakes his head once before taking them out of the docking bay. 

They pause in a hallway, and Yon-Rogg struggles to speak. The Kree who always had an answer for everything, and Vers has brought him to speechlessness. The guilt weighs on her, his dissatisfaction heavy on her shoulders. 

“When I heard,” he starts, still shaking his head, “I simply couldn’t believe that it was true. But then I realized how you’ve been drifting and I knew it was true.” 

The need to defend herself rips up out of her, “I’m not drifting-” 

Yon-Rogg backhands her shoulder, and while it doesn’t necessarily hurt or push her, it stings like a knife through the gut. “No excuses,” he hisses at her, and she knows that he’s livid. She swallows her explanations, focusing on the facts. She had defied a commanding officer, and had intervened between a master and an asset. Those two alone were transgressions that could get her shipped back to Hala. 

Yon-Rogg boxes her in against the wall with a hand near her head and a finger in her chest. “You failed to control yourself, not for the first time. But this time it can’t be overlooked. Losing your mind for an asset?” he spits the word out with disgust. “Understand that your actions have consequences, because you’ll become very familiar with it in the coming days. And once you’ve atoned, you’ll commune with the Supreme Intelligence and perhaps they will be able to set you straight.” 

Yon-Rogg takes a deep breath and steps away from her. He’s trying to control his own emotions, which Vers bitterly thinks must be quite easy since he doesn’t have many of them. Immediately she feels bad for thinking it - all he’s ever done was help her, and she’d thrown his trust away. 

“Con-Dorr was torturing him,” Vers says, and Yon-Rogg’s rage flares up again, 

“Who, cares?!” He looks like he wants to hit her, but instead he forces himself to step away. “It was too soon for you to be trusted with an asset, I can see that now.” 

“That’s not true,” Vers says, and he shakes his head in a way that means he’s made up his mind and arguing won’t change the outcome. 

For the first time Vers realizes they could take Natasha away from her. Which meant that Natasha could end up with someone like Con-Dorr. When it had been her powers being threatened, it felt less personal, less real. But Natasha… 

“I lost control of my emotions,” she says clearly, and the admission takes Yon-Rogg by surprise. “Natasha’s the only reason I didn’t lose control sooner. She cautioned me against it time after time, and yet I still put my own desires over that of the mission. I accept any retribution deemed necessary.” 

Yon-Rogg looks at her and Vers resists the urge to defend Natasha again - if she pushes any harder, he might realize her true concern is Natasha, which would turn Natasha into a bargaining chip.

Instead of answering, Yon-Rogg takes her by the elbow and brings her down the halls. The grip is unfriendly, but not punishing, and she’s not sure what he’s worried about, or even if he just wants to hide the fact he has nothing to say. 

There’s an impromptu tribunal, a Kree superior Vers only sees on the bridge, and three others holographing in. Vers maintains a level face, controlling her urge to justify and defend. It won’t do her any good, and it won’t do Natasha any good. 

“We have reviewed all materials in regards to Disciplinary Action AH392z and reached our verdict with the blessing of the Supreme Intelligence. Are you ready now, to hear our determination?” 

“Yes, High Commanders,” Vers intones, and she can feel Yon-Rogg standing behind her, off to the side; he seems less agitated now, his anger less of an oppressive cloud. 

“You will be temporarily demoted. Your access to the ship will be restricted to your quarters, and the locations your commander deems necessary. For seven cycles you will be considered under probation, after which you will commune with the Supreme Intelligence. At that point it will be decided if you require further disciplinary action. Commander Yon-Rogg, you understand your responsibilities in these circumstances?” 

“I do,” Yon-Rogg tells them, stepping up next to Vers. 

“And you accept them?” 

“I do,” Yon-Rogg repeats. Vers understands that she’s lucky to have Yon-Rogg supporting her, and knows it could have been a lot worse. 

“That will be all,” the High Commander says. The holograms blink off. “Go,” he tells them, and they leave the room. 

“Thank you,” Vers tells Yon-Rogg when they’re in the hallway, and he shakes his head. 

He sighs. “I know you’re better than this, Vers. Be better. I’ll see you in the morning, 0600.” It looks like he’s thinking of walking away, but then he adds, “Bring your asset with you.” 

Vers makes it back to her quarters without running into anyone familiar, and she opens the door, immediately sprawling out onto the couch. 

Natasha gets up from her mat when she hears the door open, cautiously pokes her head out of the door frame. No voices, just the sound of Vers hitting the cushions - she creeps out of her room. Yon-Rogg had looked murderous when Natasha left them on the flight deck, and she didn’t want to get between them if he was still here. 

But it’s just Vers, sprawled out and looking spent, her arm over her face and a hand on her stomach. Natasha kneels next to the couch by Vers’ shoulder, watching her carefully. She didn’t look too upset, just tired.

“Oh hey,” Vers smiles from under her arm when she realizes Natasha’s there. 

Natasha doesn’t want to ask how it went, but she is relieved to see Vers as relaxed as she seems. 

“Temporary demotion,” Vers tells her. “Seven cycles probation, with Yon-Rogg, so that’s fine. Banned us from the rest of the ship, but there’s food here. Yon-Rogg wants us at his quarters in the morning, 0600.” 

“Us?” Natasha asks. 

“Both of us,” Vers confirms, still hiding under her arm. 

Interesting. As punishments went it seemed tame, though she was reserving her full judgement until she saw what morning brought. 

Vers sits up and looks at her. “I should’ve listened to you,” Vers admits, and there’s regret in her eyes that’s not quite wholehearted. 

There’s no apology that follows but Natasha doesn’t need one, or expect it. Vers did what she thought was right, and probably would again. It was so much easier to do the smart thing, Natasha thinks, instead of the good thing.

She puts her cheek on Vers’ knee, and Vers sighs, putting a hand on Natasha’s head. “You were right,” Vers says. That’s not an apology either, and Natasha knows that sometimes the good thing wasn’t the right thing. She’s never had a master who was good, and she can’t fault Vers for that, but she won’t stop trying to protect her from it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/A. If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> It looks like my foreshadowing isn't as subtle as I thought it was :P We're almost there, but not quite... Thank you for the comments and kudos'! It's really awesome to read your thoughts and the things people enjoy, even just to get that kudos to let me know you liked it, so thank you thank you thank you!

It’s not one of the nights that Vers has slept well, and Natasha prepares their food and comes to Vers’ room to find Vers lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes are drawn and tight, rimmed with redness. After a few moments of hovering near the door, Natasha says, 

“We’re going to be late,” and Vers gets up with a loud sigh and rubs at her eyes.

“We’re going to be late,” Natasha reminds gently, as Vers takes an extraordinary long time to poke at her food. Vers fixes her with a dry look, but she starts to eat. 

“We’re going to be late,” Natasha tells Vers in the door of Vers’ bathroom, as Vers passes the five minute mark in the shower. Vers turns off the water and steps out, and Natasha moves out of the room, keeping careful track of how long it takes Vers to change. Natasha had anticipated that it would be a difficult morning, but she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. 

Somehow, they manage to get to Yon-Rogg’s before the lights switch to their ‘morning’ hue, and he opens the door as he finishes putting on his shirt. “On time,” he says with an air of surprise and Vers rolls her eyes, 

“Blast it on the specs.” 

“No,” Yon-Rogg tells her, putting a finger in her face, but his words don’t match his endeared smile or easy tone. “None of that. You have a week to prove that you’re serious and make amends.” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Vers asks indignantly, and that is true. 

“You’ll attend addresses in the evening,” Yon-Rogg says, fixing his shirt, and Natasha doesn’t get a glimpse into his room before the door closes behind him. 

Vers is aghast, “I already attended those on Hala.” 

“I want you to take notes, and I’ll be looking over them in the mornings.” 

“But they’re for recruits,” Vers insists, and Yon-Rogg sighs, 

“And you’ve clearly forgotten the basics, otherwise you wouldn’t have been ejected from a mission and sent back to the ship.” 

Hard to argue with that, Natasha thinks, and Vers wisely stays quiet as well. 

“We will train together each day so I can assess where you’re at and adjust your schedule accordingly.” 

“I fight with Natasha almost every day,” Vers tells him, and he pokes the lift button harder than necessary, 

“Our training sessions will be a priority, and they will continue on beyond your probation.” 

Vers looks at Natasha but Natasha’s watching Yon-Rogg's reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator and she knows he can see her too. She’s still trying to figure out why she’s here, what purpose she serves in this dynamic. 

“Okay,” Vers agrees, oddly subdued, and Natasha glances at her to see if she’d taken her distraction as an indication of a judgement. Had Natasha unknowingly swayed Vers’ attitude? 

Yon-Rogg stays quiet until they get to the desired floor, and Vers is looking at the halls with unhappiness. She’s been here before then, but why? They enter a rather large, square room. In the middle of the room is a simple table with hologram projectors, and some controls. There’s only one seat. 

“Sit,” Yon-Rogg says and Vers sits in the chair with an exaggerated heaviness, 

“Yon-Rogg-” 

“You’re being punished, Vers. Sit up.” 

Vers sits up in the chair and Yon-Rogg looks at Natasha - Natasha kneels down next to the chair, still curious. Was she simply here as an accessory? It seems to please him, and he activates the hologram projectors. 

“Read them. Sort them. Archive them. I expect you to work diligently at this.” 

“And how long am I supposed to do this for?” Vers asks, and the number that Natasha thinks is the number of files to go through steadily ticks upwards. 

“Until I come back,” Yon-Rogg tells her, and it irks Natasha that he speaks to her like that, that he doesn’t do her the respect of a timeline. But then, Vers was being punished for trying to kill (or at least, violently attacking) a superior, so maybe some disregard was due. 

Yon-Rogg leaves through the door and Vers dims the lights with a gesture, sighing deeply. “This is gonna suck,” she tells Natasha, and Natasha can’t help but agree. Vers gestures for the first file to come up - a recruitment profile, and she scans the dossier before selecting a handful of labels and dismissing it. 

Natasha sits back on her heels, settling in for the long haul, but Vers notices her movement and frowns, “You don’t have to stay like that.” Natasha eyes the corner of the room, where a beady gleam indicates a camera. “You’re my asset,” Vers answers her, with an edge of possessiveness, “You’re no use to me stiff and sore.” 

It goes against her instincts, but Natasha obliges Vers’ worry and shifts to sit on her ass, crossing her legs. 

She’s sure she can be of use in this tedious task, though she knows that’s not why she was brought along. It was starting to feel a lot more like a lesson in who had the final authority, watching Vers being subjugated like this. 

The hours pass slowly, likely much more slowly for Vers than for her. Natasha’s eyes scan the documents as they pass the screen, filing away whatever information she can glean from them. It will probably all amount to no more than trivia knowledge, but one never knew when that would come in handy. 

After more hours than Natasha cares to count, she hears footsteps outside the door and she nudges Vers, who had been dozing, awake. Yon-Rogg takes them straight to the training room; it’s the middle of the cycle, and the room is swarming with Kree. The mat along the far side of the room that Vers prefers is cleared for Yon-Rogg without question by a small group of recruits, and Natasha kneels at the side and watches with rising frustration as Yon-Rogg bests Vers again and again. 

Gone is the force of nature that had taken out the Cataclysm. Gone is the lighthearted, playful energy Vers usually approaches these fights with. 

Yon-Rogg keeps up a steady commentary of criticism, and Natasha watches as the fighting style she’s gotten used to seeing from Vers grows muted and tame, the creativity disappearing. Every time Vers’ powers flare up she’s admonished, which leaves her to fight both Yon-Rogg, and her instincts. 

The problem is that Vers doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of Kree fighting. Again and again, Vers is beaten down; to her credit, the defeats only make her more determined. Vers gets up each time Yon-Rogg knocks her down, takes every punch or kick with a grunt and presses forward relentlessly. 

Vers has exhausted herself by the time Yon-Rogg calls it quits, and Natasha isn’t surprised that Vers falls straight onto the couch when they get back to their quarters. 

They don’t have much time before they’re expected at the evening address, and Natasha gets their meal ready after she coaxes Vers into the shower, pulling her up off the couch and steering her into the bathroom. Vers had gone willingly, though the defeats on the mat had clearly subdued. 

The evening address is pure propaganda, and Vers neglects to take any notes. Natasha pays close attention, noting the tone and the terminology they use. Like big brother Soviet Union, spinning the facts and colouring the stories in a way that’s too one-sided to be accurate. 

Most of the other Kree in the room are much younger than Vers, and they give her a wide berth. Vers doesn’t wear her Star Force uniform, but they seem to instinctively know that she’s higher ranked than them. They jam into the other tables, until there’s only one unlucky Kree left, who perches herself at the edge of Vers’ table and carefully ignores them. 

The war against the Skrulls is something Natasha’s heard plenty about, but she’s interested to see both how dastardly the Skrulls are made out to be, and how stiffly Vers reacts to the film. 

Vers’ demeanour changes and she becomes more tense, her fists curling so hard Natasha’s surprised her power doesn’t start sparking off her skin. 

The Skrulls are depicted as horrible. Nasty infiltrators. An enemy that will kidnap you and violate your mind and body, then use their underhanded trickery to overthrow the Kree Empire. This in particular sets Vers’ mood on edge, and if they weren’t in a room full of other Kree, Natahsa might have reached out for her hand to steady her. 

Duty, honour, the supremacy of the Kree race and their need to defend their home from the infiltrators who seek to rob their way of life and hijack their world like they have done to so many others. The need to serve the greater good in the hopes of becoming a Kree Warrior Hero, like Vers is, and gain the dignity and nobility that comes with that calling. 

The way it’s presented seems heavy-handed to Natasha, though given what she knows about the Kree race, they might actually consider it subtle. It appeals to the militarialistic mentality that the Kree have - which interestingly enough, is the one thing that Vers seems to lack. 

They leave the room after a lecture from a Kree commander that Natasha hasn’t seen before, and Natasha writes up some notes in Vers likeness to take to Yon-Rogg in the morning, reading them aloud as she goes because she doubts Vers will go over them otherwise. 

It’s a daily schedule that begins to wear Vers down before the week is over, and while Natasha doesn’t attend the subsequent training sessions, she notices the lack of spirit each time Vers returns, the sense of muted personality. 

When it comes to an end, Vers is tired, tense.

Malleable. 

The thought alarms Natasha when she has it, and she looks over at Vers sharply in the moment. They’re priming Vers, Natasha realizes, and she feels her pulse creeping upwards. What are they priming her for? 

The next day Vers is noticeably distracted, and they don’t go to Yon-Rogg in the morning. Vers is preparing for something different today, and Natasha knows that the end of this process is for Vers to commune with the Supreme Intelligence. 

Vers puts on her battle suit, her mind troubled and far away. 

“Yon-Rogg?” Natasha asks, sitting on the floor by Vers’ bed, and that’s as much of a question as she permits herself. A springboard to air concerns, if Vers is open to it. 

The caution is undue, and Vers is still receptive to Natasha despite her turmoil. “I’m going to commune with the Supreme Intelligence.” 

Natahsa had been hoping that wasn’t the answer. “About what happened on Kron,” she confirms gently. 

“Yeah,” Vers answers, the word clipped. 

It leaves a bad feeling in Natasha’s gut. Something that was supposed to be a shining light for your species shouldn’t evoke this much worry and uncertainty. Vers clearly didn’t want to go but it was the sort of thing one couldn’t avoid. 

Vers fusses with the collar of her suit enough that Natasha stands and steps in behind Vers, straightening the edge and smoothing out the collar. Their eyes connect through the mirror and there’s dread in Vers’ gaze, but Natasha can’t dig any further because there’s a knock at the door and Vers looks away from her. 

Yon-Rogg is waiting in the hallway and Natasha doesn’t follow Vers out the door. Whatever was going to happen now, wasn’t going to bode well for them. 

“Ready?” Yon-Rogg asks, and Vers nods despite the tightness in her chest, and the unease in her stomach. 

There had been incidents before, though usually she wasn’t hitting superiors or starting real fights. Usually past incidents stemmed from a need to inject levity into situations, escape the stifling structure. It couldn’t be doom and gloom all the time, right? 

They walk through the halls and Vers finds herself starting to doubt her convictions and her place, starting to wonder if she should be letting herself deviate from the given structure and expectations. They’d trusted her with Natasha, and while they were a good team, they could do better, couldn’t they? 

Yon-Rogg takes her to the communing chamber, and Vers enters alone, then stands in the middle of the room. Was it possible that she had lost her way? 

The impulses of the Supreme Intelligence cover her body, slithering across her skin like veins, digging into her nervous system, connecting on a molecular level with her being - 

Darkness, then light. The light dissolves into a single form next to Vers, becoming a woman Vers still doesn’t recognize. The darkness returns, though it’s warmer now, speckled with stars and planets. Vers is standing in the middle of the darkness, and the woman looks around like she’s admiring the universe. 

As if the Intelligence has heard her, the room chatters and shifts until it’s become a replica of the hull of the ship. 

“Vers,” the Intelligence says, and Vers can feel her mouth as a thin line. “You have a soft spot in your heart for this place.” 

“Yes, Intelligence,” Vers answers, and as close as the image is, it’s not quite right. Vers has never noticed the subtle differences before, the lack of any variables that make it real. 

“It’s a shame we must keep meeting like this. I thought you were making such good progress.” 

“I am,” Vers tells her, her insecurity manifesting itself as a need to please. “I’m getting stronger, I’m getting better at controlling my powers.” Why does she feel the need to make this unknown woman proud of her? “I have the best asset on the ship.” 

“And yet you squabble and let your emotions run wild.” The disappointment is like a physical blow. “You treat your asset like a companion, instead of a subordinate. You attacked a superior, Vers.” 

“He was wrong in what he was doing,” Vers says, though her voice wavers. But hadn’t she been the wrong one in that situation? It seems clearer to her now, the transgression that had transpired. She’d allowed her emotions to take hold, allowed herself to lose control. 

“And your will is more important than all of the Kree race? Then my imperatives?” 

Vers shakes her head, “No. Of course not.” 

“Respect our traditions. We’re all working together. We can’t afford weakness or doubt in our ranks. I know best, Vers. I wouldn’t have put Con-Dorr at the helm unless I believed him to be capable.” 

“Yes, Intelligence,” Vers acknowledges, and she fights to keep the flare of indignation at bay. 

“Control,” the Intelligence says, and the nameless woman puts her hand on Vers’ arm. “Control yourself and remember your training.” 

“I will,” Vers says, the flare extinguishing under the contact. She had been wrong in her actions, that was clear now. And now that she knew, she could do better. “It won’t happen again.” 

“And Vers,” the Intelligence says - their time is coming to a natural end, and Vers is surprised to hear that there’s more. “That asset of yours - don’t become too involved. They’re meant to be tools, not crutches. You must prove that you understand that.” 

Her asset. Natasha - Natasha who had tried her best to prevent those events from happening, that had tried to talk sense into Vers. Natasha, who was her friend - the Intelligence puts her hands on Vers’ shoulders, and the contact is unexpected. It was more intentional than a cursory press of a hand. It’s the longest the Intelligence has ever maintained contact with her. 

“Treat her as she’s meant to be treated,” the Intelligence insists, and Vers nods - she has been too lenient. Too kind, allowed too much. Her allegiance was to the Kree, not to her asset, and she can see herself taking a firmer hand with Natasha, imposing her will on the human. Can see it as it’s meant to be. “It is the natural state of things. Don’t fail us in this as well.” 

“I understand. I won’t.” 

“You make me proud, Vers,” the Intelligence says, and the words reassure Vers, make her feel grounded and accepted. Make her feel confident that she’ll be able to fulfill the will of the Supreme Intelligence, to contribute to the Kree race. And then, it will all be as it should be.

“Thank you, Intelligence.” 

“Go on then,” the woman smiles, and the image fades away, followed by the hull of the ship. The stars are the last things to disappear, and their presence leaves Vers feeling peaceful. When she opens her eyes she’s back on the ship, and she’s somehow fallen onto her knees, her hands on the floor. 

Yon-Rogg is there to help her up, and he grips her hand strongly, braces his other at the back of her elbow. “And?” he asks once she’s gathered her thoughts and is standing steadily. 

Vers nods. There’s always clarity at the end of these meetings, an understanding that she has a place and that place is well defined. That she’s doing well, and that she needs to work harder, to be better. That she was right, but that she had lost her way - and it wasn’t too late to fix that.

“I may have been drifting off my path,” she admits, and Yon-Rogg claps her shoulder and takes a step back. 

“The important thing is that you see it now, and work to be better.” 

“I will be better,” she promises, and Yon-Rogg looks at her. Trust, in his eyes, and she realizes she misses seeing it. Misses seeing him. It’s clear that she’s been spending too much time with Natasha. That she’s gotten too involved with her asset. 

Too involved with Natasha, who’s back at her quarters, waiting for her return. 

Natasha, who instantly notices that something has changed in Vers - the way she holds her body is different, the way she holds her head is more aggressive. Vers pauses in the hallway to look at her, and Natasha meets her eyes - but even they have changed, smoldering with an intensity that makes Natasha look away. 

“You’re no longer needed today. Put yourself away,” Vers tells her, and then continues on towards her bedroom. 

Even Vers’ vocabulary has shifted, and Natasha moves to go to her room, to obey the order. Vers comes out of her room right away with a jacket, so Natasha steps back to wait for her to clear. Vers doesn’t offer a smile, and she doesn’t say anything more. She walks past Natasha and back out the door. Yon-Rogg is there waiting for her, and once Vers has passed him as well, his face turns cold and Natasha has a feeling that she’s going to be the next thing they’re going to try to control and tackle. 

After using the bathroom she enters her small room and lies down on the mat. The door closes, and she hears the click of the lock. Vers’ doing - or Yon-Rogg’s? The lights go out and Natasha stares into the darkness, wondering just what the Supreme Intelligence had said to Vers, and what the morning will bring.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Abusive dominance. Starvation, dehydration. Torture, humiliation. Compromised morality. Bit of stockholm syndrome. I'm putting a cut in. If you don't want to read Yon-Rogg with Natasha (it won't be nice), don't read past the line. You won't miss much plot. If there's something else you think I should warn for that I haven't, just let me know and I'll update it.
> 
> Long-ish chapter for ease of those skipping, but they'll probably go back to shorter ones. I did enjoy the comments, thank you for those! Read at your own risk, and keep the light at the end of the tunnel in mind... somewhere way deep down there...

The door to the small room opens, the lights in the hallway a shade above their nighttime mode. Natasha stands up silently and walks up to the door, waiting there for any sounds that indicate what she can expect. 

Everything is quiet, and she thinks she can hear Vers snoring softly. 

A few steps confirm that Vers is still in her room, lying on her side, her hands up by her head like a picture book. Vers twitches periodically in her sleep, and Natasha wonders when she will wake up. What she will want when she wakes up. And why Natasha’s door had opened, when usually Vers instigated the action, if she closed it at all. 

‘Put yourself away’ she had said last night. An order from a master, for an asset; maybe they convinced Vers to finally take her authority seriously? 

The safest course of action seems to be anticipating that probability, and Natasha kneels down in the corner of Vers’ room to wait until Vers wakes up. 

It’s not a pretty thing to watch. Something in Vers’ sleep is plaguing her, and soon she starts to twitch, her breath growing irregular, her eyes darting underneath her eyelids. Then it stops, abruptly - Vers opens her eyes, her first full breath in consciousness jump-starting her system. 

“Nat?” she asks, but Natasha doesn’t move - there had been no directive, nor a real question. 

Vers sits up, her legs touching the ground, her hands coming up to her head. She’s in pain, or something close to it, but she’s seen Natasha and she says, “Go get me some water.” When Natasha comes back, Vers is in the same position, and she holds the glass out until Vers takes it. 

It’s gulped down quickly, and Natasha takes the empty cup. Vers sits up straighter now, though her face is creased with troubles. She shakes her head once to try to dispel - something - but it doesn’t seem to work. “Make some food,” she tells Natasha, her voice still rough. 

Natasha again wonders what the Supreme Intelligence had said to Vers. 

For the first time, she brings only one tray out to the table, where Vers is sitting. She puts the tray down and stands near the wall, out of Vers’ peripheral sight, but close enough in case she’s needed. 

That look that Yon-Rogg had given her, predatory, calculating. The reckoning is on the horizon, and Natasha wonders if she’ll make it out to the other side. 

Vers finishes eating, her movements slowly losing their sluggishness. After she takes her tray to the kitchen nook, she comes back with a protein bar and sits on the couch. “Are you hungry?” she asks Natasha. Her face is missing the usual animation that would accompany it, and Natasha falls back on her old defaults, 

“If it pleases you, ma’am.” 

“Come here,” Vers tells her, and Natasha kneels at Vers’ feet. Vers unwraps the bar in her hand, looking at it instead of Natasha. “There was a manual I was supposed to read,” she tells Natasha, “How to train your asset -type thing. I skimmed it, but I never thought it was necessary. You were always just so good.” 

Natasha knows that she hasn’t done anything differently in the last week. The only thing that’s happened this last week is Yon-Rogg steadily crushing Vers’ spirit, and then the meeting with the Supreme Intelligence. They had succeeded in changing Vers, in making her think she had been wrong. But the shift of demeanour doesn’t necessarily worry Natasha, mostly because she realizes that the Kree have tried very hard in the past to suppress Vers’ personality and nature, and if it had failed the last time, it likely would again. 

Vers takes a corner of the bar and breaks it off. She tosses it onto the floor next to Natasha, a foot and a half away. “Eat it,” she says, and Natasha shifts her weight and leans down gracefully, picking up the piece of bar with her teeth. She comes back to Vers’ feet and then tips the piece into her mouth, watching Vers as she chews it. 

Vers can’t hold Natasha’s gaze, and her eyes drift over to the shelves instead. Funny, how the thing that was supposed to be reassuring Vers was making her so uncomfortable. Yon-Rogg and the Supreme Intelligence had it wrong, whatever it was they were trying to convince Vers of. 

When Natasha swallows, Vers looks back at her. “Why do you have to be so good?” Vers asks, to herself, and Natasha doesn’t want to know what question Vers would be asking if it was someone other than Natasha. If Natasha had been someone that Vers truly had to break down and rebuild. Shatter from the inside out and stitch back together. 

Vers doesn’t have it in her, she never has. It doesn’t matter how much Yon-Rogg and the other Kree keep trying to force it on her. 

“Take it,” Vers says, holding out the bar, and Natasha takes it from her hand, letting her fingers brush against Vers’. Vers doesn’t recoil, and the coldness thaws slightly. “Eat it,” Vers tells her, a hint of a plea in her voice, and Natasha begins to slowly eat. Vers is clearly uncomfortable with even this, which is why Natasha refuses to look away from her. And still, Vers prioritizes Natasha’s hunger over her own discomfort, waiting until Natasha’s completely finished to tell her to throw it away.

Natasha comes right back to Vers; kneels at her feet, looks up at her, and forces her to face the reality of what she had started last night. I’m an asset, Natasha thinks, so train me. 

Vers balks, and Natasha isn’t surprised when she walks away. There’s a pulse in Natasha’s ears, and she stares at the space where Vers had sat. For a showdown it had been anticlimactic. Natasha had been expecting a slap or a kick or at least some sort of extension of authority. But there had been avoidance instead. Natasha’s willing to wait Vers out on this one, can see the flimsy facade of Kree-instilled superiority already crumbling. 

It takes three hours and nine minutes for Vers to crack, and she comes up behind Natasha and pulls her away from the couch by the collar of her shirt. Natasha can hear her coming, goes willingly as Vers drags her across the floor. Once Natasha’s in the middle of the room, clear of the couches, Vers drops her, then drops down on top of her. 

She sits back on Natasha’s waist, leaving Natasha’s hands free. Natasha looks up at her, searching her face, looking for any signs of where this is going. 

“You know I’m not going to hurt you,” Vers says, and Natasha nods. Natasha’s not scared. Vers doesn’t even try to muster up the will to see if the statement is true. Vers frowns at her, and sighs in distress. “Why do you make this so complicated?” 

Natasha thinks that Vers is the one that made this complicated in the first place, when she refused to treat Natasha like she should have been treated. When she failed to act like a master ought to, and when she demanded a level of Natasha’s self that every previous master had done their best to quash. 

“Why do I care?” Vers asks, her jaw clenched in frustration, and she’s going through quite the monologue herself here. Natasha feels like a human-sized skull prop. 

But Vers does care, she cares a lot, and Natasha reaches out and takes Vers’ hand, her fingers curling around the curve of Vers’ palm. Natasha herself has already asked all these questions, at one point or another, and she knows she hasn’t found all the answers yet. 

“I’m loyal to you,” Natasha reassures her, calmly, gently, “I can prove that however you want me to.” 

“But it’s not easy like that. It’s not something you prove in a moment or a task, it’s -” Vers splutters out as she runs out of steam, knowing the feeling but not the words to convey it. 

Ah, Natasha thinks, here’s the crux of it. 

“It’s a mission,” Vers says, and that throws Natasha for a moment but she doesn’t react, just lets Vers work it out. “You prove it with action.” 

“I can endure,” Natasha offers helpfully, but Vers has never been a person that equated pain with loyalty.

“Action not because I say it’s so,” Vers explains, and she’s working it out as she talks so Natasha forgives the jumbled mess of a sentence. “Action because, it comes from you.” Vers leans forward, and Natasha lets go of her hand. Vers braces over her, elbows near Natasha’s head, and Natasha lets her hand touch Vers’ knee instead. “I’m not a good warrior because someone forced me to be, I’m a good warrior because I want to be. It’s the same with you, isn’t it?” 

Vers is looking into her eyes, searching, mimicking the way that Natasha looks into other people’s eyes. Except Natasha looks for the lies, and she knows how to find them - Vers is imitating an action without the skills to utilize it. 

It makes lying easy, but the lie Natasha has to tell to herself is slightly harder. “I want to be a good asset for you,” Natasha tells her. “I was forced to learn it,” she concedes - and forced to learn how to make it work for Vers, she doesn’t add - “Now it’s a tool that comes in handy in service of what I want.” 

“And you want this,” Vers repeats, and Natasha says,

“I do,” and if Vers can’t see the lie in it, then Natasha will believe it’s true too.

Vers shifts to Natasha’s stomach, where there are no hips or ribs to help lighten the load. Natasha doesn’t so much as twitch, despite the discomfort. 

Both of Natasha’s hands are on Vers’ legs now, still, but present. 

“What do you want me to do?” Vers asks, her voice edging on desperation.

Vers isn’t in a place to see the lie then, still fighting with the emotions and the logic behind everything. Such a delicate place to be, and while Natasha’s only slightly better off, she knows knowing was half the battle. Vers wasn’t the person Yon-Rogg and the Supreme Intelligence wanted to mould her into, but she was still trying to be. And she couldn’t be the person Natasha wanted her to be, because Natasha still wasn’t sure what she wanted, or what she herself was. 

The blank look she puts on her face disheartens Vers. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t such an identity crisis, but Natasha’s grateful she at least has awareness of what she’s going through. 

It’s something Vers is going to have to figure out alone. 

“I want you to do whatever you need to do,” Natasha answers, and it might be one of the first times she’s said it and meant it honestly. 

“I wish-” Vers starts, but she cuts herself off abruptly, sitting up and pushing her hands into her eyes, hiding from something. 

Natasha stays silent, letting Vers come around to it herself. 

“I wish I knew what I was like before,” Vers says, and it’s a sentence that doesn’t make any sense. Natasha waits for the more of it, the context, and eventually Vers opens the door for her: “I try to remember but it’s all gone.” 

“Remember what?” Natasha prompts quietly, and Vers pulls her hands away from her eyes and the devastation Natasha sees there guts her in a way she didn’t know she could feel for someone else. 

“I don’t remember anything. Four years ago the Skrulls got me and they wiped away all my memories.” The enormity of the secret is so overwhelming, Natasha doesn’t know how she hadn’t known it before. “Yon-Rogg found me. Brought me the Supreme Intelligence. They gave me my powers so I could fight back against the Skrulls.” 

Natasha’s mind is racing - how does this fit into Vers’ story and who she is? How does it fit into her present? 

“I want to be better,” Vers tells her, “For you, and for Yon-Rogg. For the Supreme Intelligence. So why is it so hard for me to do the right thing?” Vers asks, and Natasha doesn’t have an answer to that question, she’s still reeling from all the implications that come from Vers having no memory of her past. 

Vers gets off of Natasha and goes to her room, and Natasha stays on the floor, staring upwards where Vers’ face had been. 

Yon-Rogg was definitely covering something up. Likely something actively harming Vers. It’s a piece of the puzzle she’d been working on since she’d met Vers. A very substantial piece of the puzzle. What other pieces were there, and were they right under her nose like this one had been? 

And what does Vers think the right thing is? 

It’s a bombshell revelation, but despite that, it’s still not enough to do anything with yet. Yon-Rogg’s hold on Vers had lasted less than a cycle, and she was back to where she had been when she blasted Con-Dorr through the wall. Except now Vers was starting to question everything. How dangerous would that be for Natasha? For them? 

Natasha gets up and goes into Vers’ room, kneeling by the bed where Vers lies motionless, staring at the ceiling. They have to be careful now. If Yon-Rogg and the Supreme Intelligence realize they’re losing their grip on Vers this quickly, who know what they’ll do the next time. 

“What?” Vers asks tiredly after a moment, and Natasha shifts so she’s on her butt, and then lies down on the ground to mimic Vers’ position. “Nat?” Vers asks, the mattress shifting as she rolls over to see where Natasha has gone. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Natasha says, and whatever it is that’s going on, they’ll have a better chance of figuring it out if they’re together. 

The next morning Vers and Natasha get dressed and meet Yon-Rogg in the hallway. Vers stoicism doesn’t bode well for Natasha, and she finds herself uneasy about the whole situation. The conversation they had the night before seemed to be on the backburner, Vers forcing herself to be closer to the image she’d taken on after meeting with the Supreme Intelligence. 

She doesn’t look Natasha in the eye when she reveals, “I’m going on a mission without you. Yon-Rogg will keep an eye on you while I’m gone.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Natasha says, calmly. She’s not sure that this will be a strong enough impetus to keep Vers from reverting back to what she was, but she understands the need for the effort. If Natasha’s right, Vers is well on her way to realizing that herself. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vers leaves and as soon as she’s around the corner of the hallway, Yon-Rogg snaps his fingers at her. Natasha turns towards him and he slaps her across the face, hard. 

There’s no explanation forthcoming so Natasha straightens herself, her cheek smarting, keeping her eyes on his shoulder. He turns and Natasha follows him out the door; it’s disturbing how quickly she slips back into Natasha Romanov, indoctrinated servant of whoever’s holding the leash. 

They go to a different floor in the living section, and while Yon-Rogg has a sizable room, it’s only four walls and a half-screen to hide the toilet. 

“You’ll sleep on the floor,” Yon-Rogg tells her, “If you perform adequately tomorrow, I may give you a blanket. I want you undressed whenever you’re in this room,” he tells her, and Natasha takes off her clothes and undergarments. It’s not cold in the room but the night won’t be comfortable, especially on the metal floor. 

“Right here for now,” Yon-Rogg tells her, eyeing the spot next to his bed where he wants her to kneel. Natasha moves into the spot, and he hands her a glass. “Hold that,” he tells her, and Natasha says, 

“Yes, sir.” 

Yon-Rogg pulls out a tablet, and settles against the wall of his bed. Before he starts reading, he looks at Natasha. 

“I know Vers doesn’t treat you the way you should be treated,” he tells her, and he runs a gentle hand down the side of her head. When he reaches her jawline, his hand moves to her chin, and his fingers press into the indent of her cheeks. Natasha keeps her arms independent of the jostling he causes in her body. “But I know you know that too.” 

Yon-Rogg withdraws his hands and leaves it on that ominous note. For an hour he reads, only taking a single, performative sip from his water. When Natasha’s muscles betray her and shake just once, he pauses in his reading. 

“Trouble?” he asks, and Natasha replies, 

“No, sir,” smoothly. She’s gotten out of practise, and she hates herself for it, but for the next half an hour she’s in complete control of her body despite the ache in her hands and arms and shoulders and neck and knees. 

Yon-Rogg finally shuts off the tablet, turning to regard her like he’s a librarian peering through half-moon spectacles. “Thirsty?” he asks, and Natasha answers,

“Yes, sir,” even though her throat isn’t dry yet. 

Yon-Rogg doesn’t catch the fib, but he smiles in pleasure. “Good. Go empty the water in the sink.” 

She can feel Yon-Roggs eyes on her as she offers up no protest or indignation; as she goes to the sink and dumps out the water. She leaves the cup on the sink ledge where he’d gotten it from, and returns to stand next to the bed. “You can sleep now. Make sure I don’t trip over you if I wake up.” 

“Yes sir,” Natasha says, and she picks the most out of the way corner to sit down as he commands the lights off. 

In the morning Natasha finds herself shivering intermittently, but as Yon-Rogg shows signs of waking, she pulls herself to her knees and waits. 

He gets up, uses the bathroom, washes his face and shaves. He fills a glass with water then drinks it. He fills it a quarter full, and beckons Natasha to him. “Drink,” he tells her, and Natasha drinks it - a quarter of a litre, he’s going to be dehydrating her, and she knows that he, unlike Vers, has read up on human biology and plans to use it to make her miserable. It’s gone too quickly but Natasha swallows it in two large gulps; faster is better if he’ll be restricting her water intake. 

“Get dressed,” he tells her, and she quietly slips on her clothes while he puts his own on. 

Yon-Rogg takes her through the hallways, and puts her next to a table in the sustenance hall. He comes back with one tray and sits next to the aisle - Natasha kneels down next to him, keeping her eyes down. 

“You’re as intuitive as Vers claimed,” he tells her, and Natasha’s surprised when he puts a small cube in front of her mouth. A reward likely, and she takes it from his fingers delicately, recognizing the taste from the fun-sized nutrient bars when they’d been transporting her. It leaves a dry, bitter taste in her mouth and she works up some saliva to try to wash down the taste. 

Comparing the sizes, Yon-Rogg was likely planning to restrict her caloric intake as well. 

When he’s done his meal he has Natasha take it to the disposal (there’s still food on it, and plenty of water left in his glass but Natasha has stopped being bothered by waste while she was wanting a long time ago). She finds herself slipping back into her old mindset - there’s two different worlds, the world for masters and the world for things like her, tools to wield that lived by a different set of principles and rules. 

Yon-Rogg takes her to a part of the ship she’s never been to before. There’s another Kree here, a blue one, and the dank and hidden location doesn’t bode well for her. 

“Take off your clothes and sit in the chair,” Yon-Rogg says, and Natasha strips before sitting in the metal chair. The seat of it is split in the middle like a V, supporting only her legs and leaving a wide gap in between them. The back of the chair is thin, the arms of it wide and flat. It goes up to the top of her head, and she knows this is a device for torture. 

“This is Bo-Oll,” Yon-Rogg says. “He’s tasked with innovation and research in our asset department.” Bo-Oll pulls straps from behind the seat, and begins to tighten down Natasha’s legs around the ankles, shins, knees, and thighs. “I’ve volunteered you for some experiments on human thresholds - he’s aware of your enhancements, and very interested to see where their limitations are.” 

Bo-Oll tightens a strap around Natasha’s waist, pulling her spine flush against the seat and tightening it so her skin bulges slightly around it. 

Natasha stays stoic; another pain experiment, another test of her resolve and determination to survive. It wouldn't be intimidating even if it wasn’t so dull. 

Bo-Oll places straps above and below her breasts, then pins her arms against the chair. Her forearms and wrists follow, and he retreats behind her to what had been a closet-like structure. 

Yon-Rogg steps in next to her, pushing her head forward. He unclips the collar around her neck, and puts it in his pocket. “Wouldn’t want to short that out,” he explains, and he puts her head back against the post. 

Bo-Oll passes him something and Natasha opens her mouth when she sees that it’s a gag. It extends an inch into her mouth, and it feels a bit like hard rubber when she pushes her teeth into it. It’s made to keep her quiet and keep her from breaking her teeth, and it barely stretches out her jaw at all. 

Once it’s tightened excessively, Yon-Rogg puts her head back against the metal and straps her neck to it. 

Bo-Oll comes around with thin wires, cords dangling down from them. Of course - they can’t leave marks on her, not with Vers returning in two or three days. “I’ll be back,” Yon-Rogg says, brushing at her hair. 

As he leaves Bo-Oll places a set of wires on her feet, one on the top of each foot. “We’ll work our way up,” he tells her, grinning with excitement, and moves back behind her, attaching the cords to what must be the machine. 

Really, she wasn’t expecting a reprieve from these kinds of experiences to be so long lasting. Bo-Oll comes around and attaches a monitoring clip to her finger: “To record the data.” 

Natasha tries to adjust her mouth around the gag, but it’s destined to be uncomfortable and she makes her peace with that as Bo-Oll disappears behind her again. She hears the scrapping of the chair, and wonders if Bo-Oll actually is recording this data as a scientific endeavour. 

The first charge of electricity (or energy of some sort, but it certainly feels like electricity) through her feet makes her legs jerk involuntarily. Natasha takes a deep breath when the current stops - tame, by comparison to past experiences, but professionals start slow and she retreats into her mind, preparing for a long, arduous day. 

Yon-Rogg returns after Natasha’s lost track of how long she’s been here. Bo-Oll is a skillful torturer, using her vitals to adjust and spike the levels of current for maximum impact. The lack of water and food make her body even more susceptible to the pain, and she can barely hold herself upright when he’s finished. 

When Yon-Rogg walks in, she forces herself to straighten, to be as attentive as she can be in his presence. 

“And?” Yon-Rogg asks, and Bo-Oll says, 

“Astounding. Utterly astounding - not only her threshold, but her composure. It’s exquisite, Yon-Rogg.” 

“Is that so,” Yon-Rogg asks, and he’s looking at Natasha but Natasha can barely raise her eyes, her head dizzy with exhaustion and weakness. Yon-Rogg comes over to her and caresses her head; Natasha lolls into the touch. He’s pleased with her, and he smiles. “Very good. Let’s get her out of this, we have other business.” 

Bo-Oll begins to unstrap her, and Natasha concentrates on not letting her body fall forward when the restraints release her. The twitching of her muscles had died down a few minutes ago, and they’d been in the middle of taking a necessary pause to ensure her continued sufferance. Bo-Oll pulls the gag from her mouth and her jaw aches as it goes; as hungry for water as she was, there’s still dribbles of drool that follow the gag. 

She stays in the chair, waiting for a directive. Instead of one, Yon-Rogg holds a glass of water out in front of her - another quarter litre, or thereabouts. Natasha takes it, but forces herself to wait despite the screaming impulses that demand she down it. 

When Yon-Rogg puts a hand on her head she knows she’s done the right thing and is meant to wait. The glass is blessing cold in her blisteringly hot hand, her body covered with sweat that was wrestled out despite the deficiency of liquid in her. It makes her weakened arm ache from the weight of it, and she finds herself leaning into Yon-Rogg’s hip. 

Traitor, a little part of her thinks, it’s been less than a day and already her loyalty is beginning to shift, Vers’ memory fading while she readjusts to the reality of surviving in the now. 

They’re speaking about her, debating how far they can push her, and Natasha is resigned to let anything happen, knowing already that she won’t resist or fight as they see how far she bends. 

She alraedy knows she won’t break. 

“Go ahead,” Yon-Rogg says to her, “But leave some.” 

It takes more willpower than it ought to have to stop at one mouthful, and she lets the cup linger against her lips for a second longer before she drops it. The water is blissfully soothing against her raw throat, washing away the dryness. The cold slides down her chest and into her empty stomach, a welcome reprieve. 

Yon-Rogg presses a protein cube against her lips and so Natasha takes it, crunching it between her teeth and swallowing the chalky substance with some difficulty. He gives her another and she can feel this one getting stuck in her throat, but he lets her finish the water and that washes away the residue. 

It’s not nearly enough, especially given the ordeal her body’s been through, but it’s enough to stoke a little liveliness back into her bones, give her muscles a little jolt to get them cooperating again. 

Yon-Rogg moves to snap a collar around her neck and Natasha only just registers that it’s a different one than Vers’ before it disappears from view. “Let’s go,” he tells her, and Natasha stands to follow him. “Get your clothes,” he tells her impatiently and she curses herself at her absentmindedness. Natasha tries to move as quickly as she can with her limbs less than optimum.

Down the hallway, Yon-Rogg opens a door, and gestures for Natasha to go first. “Drop your clothes there,” he says, pointing to a corner near the door. When Natasha comes back he takes her by the back of the neck and moves her to the far wall where a water spout sticks out of the wall. She kneels when he pushes her down, picking up the container he kicks at her. 

“Clean yourself up,” he tells her, “Quickly.” 

The water that comes out of the spout when she turns it on is frigid, and she’s shivering as soon as it touches her skin. Diligently, she wets herself with it and uses the soap in the bottle to wash away the layer of sweat and stink. Gritting her teeth, she ducks her head under it as well, fighting the need to allow some water to dribble into her mouth. 

It’s another test of her will, and she finishes off with scrubbing her face. 

Clean, she turns off the tap and turns around to face Yon-Rogg. The water has shocked her system into alertness, though she’s shivering so hard it’s difficult to see straight. Yon-Rogg leaves the room and Natasha stays as she is, trying to keep as much heat in her body as she can by pressing her legs and arms close. 

There’s pools of water around her that she would be happy to drink from, but she’s well aware that Yon-Rogg would be even happier to offer up more permanent damage if he had a just cause. 

Her stomach aches from the trembling of her muscles and the lack of food, her head feverish. 

Twelve minutes after he’s left, Yon-Rogg returns. “Put your clothes on,” he tells her, and her hair is still wet but most of her has dried and so the garments don’t get too damp. 

Natasha follows him through the ship, still cold despite the layers. No, she reminders herself, not cold, just uncomfortable. Cold was Russian winter, tied to a post, naked, her toes and fingers numb with frostbite, wishing for one more girl to die so the rest of them could go back inside.

By the time Yon-Rogg takes her into a meeting room, she’s calmed her panicked body and started the long, calming breaths that press against every part of her and remind her she’s alive. 

Yon-Rogg is the first - or only - one there, and he pulls a chair out from under the table. “Go,” he tells her, almost bored, and Natasha crawls under the table, turning around so she’s facing his knees when he sits down. He hasn’t pushed himself in all the way yet, and Natasha finds herself wondering if the Kree are yet another species who assert themselves sexually. 

“It is a shame I had to take you from Bo-Oll, but I promised him I would continue experimenting for him. You’ve done well so far,” he says, and Natasha hates him at that moment, for his fake attempt at praise. It would have worked better, before, but Vers had prevented any stab at pretending what any other master offered her was real. “This is a very serious meeting, so I don’t want you to make a sound. I will whip you if you fail in that. You will put your head against my legs, but if you try to hurt me, even unintentionally, I’ll do more than whip you. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” Natasha tells him, and she wonders where the challenge will come from. 

Yon-Rogg tucks himself into the table, and reaches out with his hand - Natasha puts her head in it, letting him pull her towards him until she was nearly sitting on his feet, her knees to either side of his shoes. He lays her head sideways in his lap, his hand staying possessively on top of it. 

What Natasha doesn’t see is the remote in his other hand, which he keeps on the table - but she does feel the current of electricity that comes through her neck and goes down her spine. The suddenness of it has her grunt audibly and jerk, and he presses down on her head to keep her in place. The current ratchets up twofold and Natasha’s entire body vibrates from the intensity of it, her breath threatening to pitch up into a whine. 

It stops and she can feel the residual spasms, trying her best to contain them as he pins her down. She’s breathing through her mouth by the time her body has calmed, and she tries her best to keep the laboured breaths quiet. 

People come into the room but Natasha’s too preoccupied to pay attention to them, the low-level current burning up her nerves, setting them on fire, screaming at her to get away. 

The current comes from the collar he put around her neck, a different one than what Vers had given her. Vers’ collar had shocked her when she tried to take it off, but this one was being remote controlled, and seemed to have an endless variety of sensations.

Natasha loses track of how long the meeting goes on. She tries to pay attention to what’s being discussed, but it seems irrelevant, and the constantly varying attack on her person is more than enough to deal with. 

Low level shocks intermittently jump to high level ones, feeling like a spasm in her brain and leaving her lifeless. After everyone has left the meeting, Yon-Rogg rolls out from under her and Natasha barely manages to catch herself in time. 

The lightheadedness doesn’t disappear after she stands, and she follows him to the sustenance hall. Had she made a noise during the meeting? It was all a blur, but he had stroked the back of her head as she panted for air, held off on any shocks when she convulsed and her lungs seized up. Breathing heavily hadn’t been punished, and she wonders if she’d passed his test. 

Natasha kneels at his feet while he eats, ferries his discarded tray and full glass to the bins when he’s finished. He doesn’t feed her, nor offer her any water. She knows she disappointed him, and she wonders when. Likely in the meeting room, when there had been a few times that her senses left her and she couldn’t be sure if she’d made a noise. She thought she’d done well, but if she had, Yon-Rogg wouldn’t be expressing his displeasure by denying her. 

He takes her back to his room, and as they cross the threshold, Natasha pulls off her clothes - the momentary warmth she’d gained dissipates into the air, and she wonders if he made it colder, or if she’s just starting to lose the ability to regulate her temperature. 

Natasha’s ready to sleep, but she knows it won’t be that easy. Yon-Rogg watches her and when she’s finished undressing, she turns to him and puts her hands behind her back. 

“You were so close,” he laments, and Natasha has anticipated this already, and she doesn’t play into his drama. “How much water have you had today?” 

“Half a litre,” she tells him, her voice raw as evidence. 

“And how much do you need?” 

“At least twice that.” 

“How much do you think you’ve eaten?” 

The three cubes - “300 calories,” Natasha guesses; if he doesn’t know what a calorie is, he doesn’t show it. 

“Not nearly enough,” he leads her on, and Natasha answers, 

“No sir.” 

“So why do you choose to fail, when you can’t afford the consequences?” 

“I’m sorry sir,” Natasha says, because there is no right answer to that. 

“What did I tell you before the meeting?”

“You told me not to make a noise,” Natasha tells him blankly, and then she remembers the grunt, the window of opportunity he had taken advantage of in her surprise.

“And did you obey that order?” 

“No sir,” Natasha says - it doesn’t matter if she went through the rest of the meeting being able to follow his command, she’d been doomed to this from the start. And if she hadn’t failed so quickly, he’d likely have ratched it up to a level that would ensure her failure. 

“Put your hands up on that wall,” he says, and Natasha turns to the wall and spreads her hands against it. He’s behind her, kicking back her legs until they’re two feet from the wall and spread. “And you were doing so well,” he says, his hand running down her spine, then around the curve of her hips. 

He steps away, opens a drawer somewhere. The crack of the whip is loud in this small room, and Natasha’s grateful there’s not enough space for him to use it effectively. 

“Count them out, and if Vers asks why I had to discipline you, ensure you tell the truth.” 

There’s no chance of that happening, and Yon-Rogg whips her ten times before he puts the implement down. He digs his nails into her skin, and she trembles. 

“I didn’t break the skin,” he tells her, “But next time I will.” 

“Thank you sir,” she tells him. 

Yon-Rogg moves away from her and Natasha stays where she is. She can hear him getting into his bed, hear him pick up his tablet. Natasha counts the passing seconds in the silence that follows, finding this position more restful than being a cup holder. 

Not restful enough that she’ll be able to sleep, and she momentarily thinks that he’ll ask her to hold this position into the night, but five minutes after the lights have turned off, he says, “You can sleep,” and Natasha folds down where she is with a, 

“Thank you sir.” 

She curls into herself, chasing whatever warmth her body has to give, the burning ache of her back close to being a welcome respite from the cold. Exhausted, dehydrated, and beginning to starve, sleep is harder to find now than it had been last night. 

In the morning she gives up on chasing another illusive slice of sleep and instead gets to her knees. It’s getting harder to breathe, every breath reminding her how dry her throat is. The pain on her back has faded to a throb, but her stomach started cramping painfully a few hours ago. 

They’re all things she can push aside, and she sets up her mental barricades as Yon-Rogg stirs. 

On her knees, she pulls her shoulders straight and waits; he gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom, shaves, drinks, fills a glass half full of water, and moves to sit down at his small desk. Natasha doesn’t dare think the water might be for her, and she crawls over when he tells her to come. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, but it’s not a real question, so she gives him a fake answer, 

“Ready to serve, sir.” 

“Come closer,” he tells her, and she comes to his knees. He picks up the glass and puts his finger into the water. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Natasha opens her mouth, allowing herself to be present in just this moment and not worry about the next. 

Yon-Rogg pulls his finger out and there’s a drop of water rolling down his finger as he places his finger into Natasha’s mouth. Natasha keeps her mouth open as he runs his finger along her tongue. 

“Close your mouth,” he says, and Natasha closes her mouth around his finger as he pulls it away. His finger goes back into the glass and Natasha opens her mouth again. “I did some reading,” he tells her, and he repeats the process. It’s going to take an hour for everything in the glass this way, but Natasha’s focused on choosing the right moment to close her lips and get as much off his finger as she can. 

“Did you know your body holds onto water better when you consume it in large quantities?” 

Yes, Natasha thinks, she does know that. But her mouth is closed around Yon-Rogg’s finger so she doesn’t say anything. 

“Such a shame. Maybe you’ll be better behaved today.” 

He gives her barely anything, just enough to moisten her lips and seal off the worst cracks in her throat. Then he drinks the rest of it in front of her. He’s going to have to piss, Natasha thinks, after drinking so much. 

“Make my bed,” he tells her, “And then we’ll go.” 

Yon-Rogg takes her back down to Bo-Oll, and Natasha undresses when they enter the room. Yon-Rogg gestures to the chair and Natasha sits in it, steeling herself. There’s nothing they can do in this chair that hasn’t been done before, and she knows she’ll be able to endure it all. 

Instead of a gag, Yon-Rogg picks up a mask. Natasha tips her head forward so he can pull it on her. It seals completely around her face, pressing into the sides of her nose and tight under her chin. Yon-Rogg adjusts it so it’s even tighter; it reminds Natasha of the transport mask she’d worn, except this one doesn’t have the blackout portion over her eyes. 

Yon-Rogg covers the air intake casually, and the supply of air is cut off. Natasha calms her heartbeat, feeling the pressure building. Did he want her to struggle, or stoically take it? Natasha guesses a more stoic approach. The inability to breathe triggers a flight response, but she clamps down on it. She’ll pass out before she dies from the lack of air, so that fear isn’t necessary. 

Over a minute passes before her body begins to jerk, though she keeps her hands curled into the chair’s armrests. Yon-Rogg opens the intake up. 

“Excellent,” Bo-Oll says giddily, and Yon-Rogg pets her hair, 

“Don’t get over excited, I still don’t want any marks on her. I’ll be back.” 

Yon-Rogg leaves and Bo-Oll appears with the wires and Natasha settles in for the long run. He adjusts a gauge on the mask and the air becomes sparse, though in a state of relaxation it doesn’t impact much. Natasha starts taking deeper breaths to prepare her body for the inevitable shortage. Once the electricity will start it’ll become a different story, panic and pain shorting out the rationalizations she’s making now. 

Bo-Oll tightens her body to the chair, and the straps dig into her skin. 

Still, she’ll pass out before she dies, and while there is a fear of death, it doesn’t loom over her. Death is a fact of life; the wires are placed on her feet and Natasha braces herself. 

When Yon-Rogg comes to collect her, she’s passed out three times. Bo-Oll had been pushing her to see where her limitations had been, and Natasha’s relieved to hear him say as much to Yon-Rogg. She needs as much water and calories as she can get, and pleasing Bo-Oll seems to be the best way to get them, so far. Yesterday is no guarantee that things would be the same today, but it was more than nothing. 

She’s weak with thirst and hunger and fatigue, but she still pushes herself back into the chair when the restraints are released. 

“Another successful session,” Yon-Rogg says with pleasure, and Natasha lets her head lean into his hip when he pulls her. He dials the mask’s control down so she’s barely getting any air, but it’s still a reprieve from Bo-Oll’s experiments. 

“I would be quite interested to see how she would handle blood loss and physical trauma,” Bo-Oll is saying, but Yon-Rogg cuts the hopeful comment off with,

“Absolutely not. It’s too risky.” Too risky for what? Natasha thinks, but Yon-Rogg is warm and she’s not quite in her mind and she doesn’t think too hard about it. 

Yon-Rogg is using his thumb to caress her collar, and Natasha allows her eyes to close. She’d been allowed to catch her breath since the last torture, and now she slipped peacefully into a rhythm that allowed her to fill her lungs, but also makes her body feel heavy. 

Yon-Rogg would be a good master, she thinks. The torture so far had been tolerable, and it went without saying that she was here to simply endure for his pleasure. The gentle touches and firmness in his conviction were reassuring, and so far he hadn’t lied about anything. The consequences were logical, the deprivation just another assault on her lack of agency. 

He’s pulling off the mask and Natasha straightens up instead of gasping in air like she wants to. “Come,” he says, and she stands, pausing for only a moment as darkness begins to collapse in on her vision. It’s gone quickly, and picks up her clothes before following him out the door. 

They go to the same room as they had the previous time, and Natasha puts her clothes on the ground and waits. Yon-Rogg is by the spout. “Here,” he tells her, and she comes to him, kneeling on the ground. 

He starts the water and it begins to pool around her knees, just as cold as it had been the last time, though her body seems more numb to it now. He takes one hand and grips her hair tightly, and gathers some water in his other palm. He presses it against her lips, and she drinks eagerly. When her tongue darts out to lick his palm he smiles at her. 

“It’s such a shame,” he tells her, and he pulls a protein cube from his pocket. He doesn’t explain his comment but Natasha can see the lust for power as he feeds her, filling his palm once again with water. This time he yanks her head back and pours it over her forehead - she blinks it out of her eyes, shivering as it drips onto her shoulders. 

When she swallows he gives her another cube, pulling her hair upwards and forcing her neck straight. As she chews, he pours water over both shoulders, then onto the top of her head. 

It’s enough to leave her shivering, and he stands, wiping his wet hand on a section of her dry hair. “Clean yourself.” 

The bitter chalkiness of the protein is stuck in her throat and she tries to unstick it with her saliva as she mechanically washes herself. Part of her is hoping he’ll let her lick up the water from the ground, but when she finishes, he leaves her there for ten minutes and comes back to tell her to put on her clothes. 

They go to the mess hall next, Natasha feeling slightly less worn down than she had when he came to retrieve her. They’re in the middle of the cycle, and he leaves her by a table. Other Kree willingly allow him to cut the line, and he’s back with a tray of food and a glass in a short time. 

Natasha kneels down after he sits. 

“Minn-Erva,” Yon-Rogg greets, and he toggles a switch on the remote and Natasha feels a current that pinches at her neck insidiously. 

“How’s that going?” Minn-Erva asks; Natasha focuses on staying silent, her ears beginning to ring. 

Yon-Rogg presses a foot against the top of her thighs and Natasha lowers herself to sit on her heels - he leaves his foot on her. The connection is helpful, a link to remind her what she should be doing and why. The pain was secondary, her purpose always went first. “Well. I’ve never seen Bo-Oll so joyful.” 

“It’s a shame you won’t give us a go,” Minn-Erva says, and the current increases, though it begins to jump sporadically to different points on the collar. 

“All in good time.” The current increases again, turning off and on now, and Natasha’s head falls forward, her shoulders tensing with the effort of controlling her impulses. 

“Vers put that on her?” Minn-Erva asks with disbelief. 

“My own creation. It’s proving to be a useful tool. Watch,” he says, and the pain spikes beyond what Natasha thought the device was capable of - she collapses forward against his leg, her hands parting - but she doesn’t make a noise, careful to remember the lesson from yesterday. 

It stops soon after her eyes begin to feel like they’re rolling in her head and she thinks she’s cracked a tooth. Residual tremors run through her arms, each part of her feeling disconnected from the others. She’s panting heavily, the air crackling through her throat. It shouldn’t count as sound, by yesterday’s standards, but she can’t help it if it does. 

As soon as she thinks she can, she pulls herself off him, puts her hands back where they were. She’s beginning to sweat again, though her body doesn’t have the liquid to spare. 

He touches her head, caressing it, and she shivers. “Packs a punch,” Minn-Erva says, and Yon-Rogg has maneuvered Natasha’s head to his thigh and she rests there bonelessly, pathetically grateful for the mercy. 

He pokes a protein cube into her mouth and she doesn’t have the energy to chew it so she lets it soften before pushing at it with her teeth and tongue. 

Yon-Rogg and Minn-Erva talk above her, the table itself preventing her from being able to see them. But Yon-Rogg has a hand on her head and his foot on her lap and she allows herself to relax into it, recovering and preparing for the next torture. 

When he’s finished eating he lets Natasha have the sliver of water that’s left in his glass - barely a mouthful, but she’ll take whatever she can get - and gets her to toss another half-full tray. 

Part of her wishes that Vers had told her, how long she would be here with Yon-Rogg, though the other part tells her not to expect Vers to come back. Wishing only brought sorrow and heartache, and weakened your ability to deal with the now. Natasha would survive, as she always had. 

They walk down the halls, Natasha focusing on not letting her feet drag, or showing how much he’s been able to weaken and wear her down. Into an elevator, and Natasha wonders if she’ll go back to Bo-Oll, knows that she’ll be able to endure another session of torture with him. If that’s what Yon-Rogg wishes… though it would deviate from the established schedule, and that wouldn’t line up with Yon-Rogg’s intentions. 

Yon-Rogg takes her to the bottom of the ship, near Bo-Oll’s chambers but in a different wing, a wing that Natasha recognizes as where she had been initially held before she had been moved to be transferred to Vers. 

They enter through a doorway and the air changes once they get through the antechamber; the pervasive stink of sweat and desperation, pain and neglect. They move through a large chamber that’s filled with cages, some of them with occupants, some empty. Natasha doesn’t get a good look at them - it’s dark, the quality of light from the overhead yellowed, the lights themselves grimy. 

The room they stop in has a square area in the middle of it surrounded by bars, with stall-like caged spaces branching out from the main area. 

Three of the cages are occupied by purple beings that are half the size of Natasha - Natasha doesn’t get a good look at them, as Yon-Rogg tosses a grubby one-piece coverall at her. “Put that on,” he tells her, and he leaves, closing the bar door behind him. 

Natasha takes off her clothes and slips into the coveralls; this place reminds her of the Red Room matches, opponents held in cages like these. The Winter Soldier had nearly killed her in a room like this, his face masked and his hair loose. 

What was to be her purpose here? 

There are two beings whimpering, and Natasha wonders why the third doesn’t follow suit. Is she here to be their Winter Soldier? 

Yon-Rogg returns with two weapons, and he tosses a baton to the far side. He tosses a dagger at Natasha’s feet. “We’ll release the children one at a time,” he tells her, and if the revelation that the beings are children was meant to make her balk, it fails. “Test them - the ones that are strong enough will be trained to become assets. Kill the ones that do not.” 

Natasha nods. She understands what he’s attempting to do - make her complicit in his evil, prey on her delicate human sensitivities and damn her soul for all of eternity. But Natasha Romanov doesn't have a soul. And she understands that these actions are not her own, that these actions are the cost of survival; and in that, she will always be complicit. 

Yon-Rogg steps closer to her, tips his head. “It would be ill-advised to show weakness or mercy - it would be my duty to report any inadequacies to Vers upon her return, as well as the circumstances from which they arose.” 

Natasha looks at Yon-Rogg, meeting his eyes. Natasha understands her own powerlessness in resisting what he’s telling her to do, but will Vers? There may be some leeway to that standard, because of the deprivation he’s forced upon her - her body is weak and lethargic as it is. But the expectation here isn’t peak performance, it’s ruthlessness, and that quality in Natasha has only been affected by Vers’ standards. 

“Yes sir,” she tells him, and she waits to pick up the dagger until after he leaves. 

The door of the first cage is opened, and a purple human-like being with short horns and a muzzle-like jaw darts out to pick up the baton. Their grip on the weapon is unfamiliar and clumsy, and they let the top of it rest on the ground as they look at Natasha with fear. They have heard the conversation, know that this may be the conclusion of their life. 

The child screams and comes running at Natasha with the baton, and Natasha side-steps the attack easily, pushing at the child’s shoulder to knock off their balance. The child crashes down onto their side with a cry of pain, the baton skittering away. It’s a good thing they’re weak and slow, and that Natasha’s stronger and faster than them even in her compromised state. 

The child stands and takes up the baton again with a hiss at Natasha. There’s a spark behind the fear, something unyielding - if they do have what it takes, maybe they’ll be lucky enough to find someone like Vers at the end of their training. 

The child runs at Natasha again, and this time she slashes the top of their dominant hand as she side-steps, to see how they will react when their natural strength is compromised. 

The high pitched scream howls through the room, and the child falls to their knees, huddled over their hand. 

Natasha will give them the time to show how they handle this complication, if they stand up and persevere, or if they give up. 

If Yon-Rogg is trying to compromise her by setting her to this task, he doesn’t understand that there’s nothing to be compromised. Natasha doesn’t think Yon-Rogg understands that Vers is the source of her own conflict, and that Natasha is just an accessory to that, bending and compromising based on what she needs to be. 

They’re not going to fix their problem with Vers by making Natasha kill, but Natasha is grateful for the chance to spare these children from a worse fate at the hands of the Kree.

Vers can never know about this, Natasha thinks, and as the child stands and comes running at her with the baton again, held loosely this time in their non-dominant hand, Natasha feels her own weakness and understands that while Vers is her master, it is Yon-Rogg’s wishes she must fulfill right now. 

It’ll be a mercy to kill the ones that don’t have what it takes, Natasha knows, to spare them from the pain and suffering they will endure if they survive this encounter. A mercy she has the responsibility to gauge, and the duty to follow-through on. 

That night, Yon-Rogg feeds her two protein cubes and a mouthful of water. He lets her wash the blood of the two that did not make it off her hands. He sets her in a corner of his room and lets her rest, curled on her side and feeling even weaker than she had before.


End file.
